


Sparkle

by AislingSiobhan



Series: All That Glitters [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Crossover, Language, M/M, Mpreg, Sequel that still isn't written, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislingSiobhan/pseuds/AislingSiobhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter died during the attack by Lord Voldemort. Due to a mistake, or a miracle, he doesn’t pass onto the afterlife. Instead, he wakes up, alive and corporeal just outside of Gondor. Mistaken for Isildur's heir, Harry is kept in isolation by the Steward of Gondor, until Faromir accidentally frees him. When Harry escapes from Gondor, he happens upon what is left of the Fellowship, and Legolas is instantly interested in the young human. Crossover. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 01

ATTENTION: This is another old one I'm moving over from FFNet. I'm aware I made some mistakes, but I haven't changed them, because likely I'd have to re-write huge chunks of the story to make it fit. Sorry!

 

Some of the spoken phrases are in Elvish, which is taken from a website. However, from the last story I did in Elvish, I found it too confusing to put the translations at the end. Instead, I have the translations in italics beside the Elvish. 

* * * 

Any full paragraph in italics has been taken from the Lord of the Rings films. You’ll recognize anything that doesn’t belong to me. 

**“Sparkle”**

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter, et all are property of JK Rowling, and Bloomsbury, and Warner Bros and all those other nifty people that make it so we can read and watch the Potterverse whenever we feel like it. I make no money from this, just so you know. Lord of the Rings is also not mine; I make no money from the books or the movies.  
 **Summary:** [Legolas/HP] Harry Potter died during the attack by Lord Voldemort. Due to a mistake, or a miracle, he doesn’t pass onto the afterlife. Instead, he wakes up, alive and corporeal just outside of Gondor. Mistaken for Isildur's heir, Harry is kept in isolation by the Steward of Gondor, until Faromir accidentally frees him. When Harry escapes from Gondor, he happens upon what is left of the Fellowship, and Legolas is instantly interested in the young human. Crossover. AU.  
 **Warnings:** Slash. Legolas/HP. Violence. Cross over. AU. Language.  
 **Rating:** R for violence and language.  
 **A/N:** Beta – Raecat at FFnet. Many thanks. 

_XXX_

‘Where did you get those eyes so blue?’ ‘Out of the sky as I came through.’  
‘What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?’ ‘Some of the starry spikes left in.’ – George MacDonald, ‘Baby’. 

_XXX_

**Words:** 10,670  
 **Chapter 1/3**  
 **Sparkle I**  
Middle-Earth. 

_The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it._

_It began with the forging of the great rings. Three were given to the Elves: immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf-lords: great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine… nine rings were gifted to the race of men who, above all else, desire power._

_For within these rings was bound the strength and will to govern each race. But they were all of them deceived. For another Ring was made._

_In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret a master Ring to control all others. And into this Ring he poured his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life. One Ring to rule them all._

_One by one the Free-Lands of Middle-Earth fell to the power of the Ring. But there were some who resisted. A last alliance of men and Elves marched against the armies of Mordor. And on the slopes of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle-Earth. Victory was near. But the power of the Ring could not be undone._

_It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the King, took up his father’s sword. Sauron, the enemy of the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth was defeated. The Ring passed to Isildur who had this one chance to destroy evil forever. But the hearts of men are easily corrupted. And the Ring of power has a will of its own. It betrayed Isildur to his death._

_And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost._

_History became legend, legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years the Ring passed out of all knowledge, until, when chance came, it ensnared a new bearer._

_XXX_

Earth. October 31st 1981. 

The Ring spent five-hundred-years in the possession of the creature Gollum, and a further sixty-years with Bilbo Baggins before the Hobbit passed the Ring onto his nephew, Frodo. However, seventeen Earth years before the Ring came to Frodo, something very strange took place in Godric’s Hollow. It was something that would change the course of Middle-Earth, and certain individuals therein, forever. 

It was late in the evening, on Halloween, when the Dark Lord Voldemort appeared at the kissing gate. He looked in at the small Wizarding town of Godric’s Hollow and he smirked, his lips drawing up beneath the cover of his hood, and his red eyes narrowed in anticipation. He pushed open the gate, noiselessly, and calmly walked forward. He made his way towards one house, stopped outside. He drew his wand from his pocket, pointed it at the door and whispered, “Reducto.”

The door blew inwards, blasted off its hinges, and it landed on the floor with a crack. Voldemort strode over the door, paying no mind to the dark-haired man before him who was screaming to his wife. The redheaded woman grabbed a child and ran, following her husband’s orders. Voldemort watched them go, unconcerned: there was nowhere they could run to escape Lord Voldemort. James Potter pointed his wand at the Dark Lord and cried, “You will not have my family! Expelliarmus!” 

“Avada Kedavra,” was the calm answer James received. Voldemort made no move to block James’ spell, and when his own hit the other Wizard, James toppled backwards, crumpling to the floor in a flash of green light. His wand rolled from the corpse towards Voldemort’s feet. With a smirk, the Dark Lord snapped the piece of wood under his foot. 

He walked up the stairs, following the sound of sobbing. Lily Potter held her son to her chest, looking frantically around the nursery for some way to escape. She had left the brooms downstairs, the floo powder was in the living room, and she didn’t have a Portkey on her. They had thought they would be safe, they had thought it safe enough not to take extra precautions and it had cost her husband his life. She would not let Voldemort have her son as well. 

“Please, not my baby. Don’t hurt my baby, please, no,” she begged, her back to Voldemort as she curled around the boy in her arms. 

Harry Potter looked over his mother’s shoulder as the man pointed his wand at her back. Wide green eyes met crimson, and the green eyes looked away first. 

“Stand aside, girl,” Voldemort spoke. His wand never wavered. “I will spare you, but I will have the boy.”

“Please not my baby.” Lily refused to turn around; she refused to bare Harry to that monster’s gaze. 

Losing his patience, of which he did not have much to begin with, Voldemort whispered the deadliest of the Unforgivables. And in two words, Lily Potter fell to the floor, never to rise again. Harry was dropped as well, and he landed with a small cry before crawling forward to shake his mother’s shoulders. 

“Goodbye, Harry Potter,” the Dark Lord whispered. His wand was pointed at Harry’s forehead, and the child stared up at him unflinchingly even as sickly green light sped towards him. The light hit Harry, and bounced back. It flew straight towards Voldemort, who was so shocked he didn’t even think to duck out of the way. It hit him in the chest, the force of the magic propelling him across the room. As he died, he took pleasure in the thought that Harry Potter was also dead. 

Voldemort’s body crumbled to ashes, his wand and his robe were all that remained of the once Dark Lord. He would rise again, of that he was certain, but now was not that time. His spirit fled the house, searching for somewhere safe to recover. As the evil left, another presence entered the house. This spirit was warm and bright, shinning like a star. It was a woman, she was very tall and her hair was blond and hung to her waist. Her face was beautiful, stunning almost. But her most prominent feature was her ears. They were pointed at the top, and slanted. 

The Elf looked down on the body of the child and small, perfectly formed teardrops spilled down over her cheeks. As her tears touched his skin, the grey pallor of it retreated, giving way to a healthy pink. The child stirred, rousing from eternal sleep though his body did not take breath. She reached down for him, gathering him into her arms, and then they both vanished from the house.

 _XXX_

Middle-Earth, Valinor. 

“What have you, Eonwe?” A soft voice asked. This Elf was taller than the woman, and male. His hair was just as long, and he was just as beautiful to look at. Harry continued to move, very slightly, in her arms, but he did not breathe or open his eyes. 

“A child. A very special child.” The female Elf spoke, in a voice like bells.

“The human is dead, sister. Send him back.” The male turned his back to her, and began to walk away. 

She raced after him, grabbing onto his arm desperately. “Adan! Please. He lives, I can feel that he lives.” 

“Bring him to the Valar,” the male, Adan, spoke at last. He turned and offered his mate a sad smile. “But saving him will not ease the pain of our son’s passing.”

“I could not save Veryan, but I can and will save this child.” Eonwe held her head high as she spoke, clutching the boy against her tighter. “Stay with me, Harry. The Valar protect you.” 

The Valar had smiled on Harry Potter, and to Eonwe’s delight they agreed to breath new life into him. Still held in the she-Elf’s arms, the child took his first breath since the Dark Lord had struck him with the death spell. His eyes fluttered open, wide and glossy as he stared from one stranger to the next. Tears fell, as he did not recognize anyone, nor understand the language they were speaking. As he began to cry, the goddess raised her hand, and pressed it lightly to his forehead. There was a small cut there, shaped like a lightening bolt, and as she touched it a pulse of pain flew through Harry’s body and his eyes slid closed. He slept deeply. 

The Elves around him spoke quietly, so as not to wake him. 

“I will keep him,” Eonwe offered. Those who had sailed to Valinor were no longer able to have children, and she and Adan had come to the Undying Lands when their own son (who was much older than Harry) had been killed by Orcs. 

“He is a Human. He must go to the race of Men.” An Elf spoke, his eyes turned to their goddess. 

Eonwe gasped, clutching at the boy instinctively, but then she released her hold. Harry was taken from her arms and she turned her face away to hide her tears as the human was vanished from sight. “He will go to Men. They will care for him,” Adan promised, coming behind her to embrace her.

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Gondor.

The land of Gondor was usually a pleasant one. The Men worked hard, took care of their families and fought off any attack that was attempted against their home. The white city of Minas Tirith stood tall and proud, the white tower of Ecthelion gleaming in the sunlight. 

From out of nowhere, it began to rain. The rain came hard and heavy, pouring punishingly down upon the men, women and children who stood outside their homes. The Men always remained within the walls of the city unless they were hunting or fighting, but from outside a loud cry was heard. It was the cry of a small child, and many ran to the towers and outposts in an attempt to spot the child. A flash of lightening blinding those who attempted to look. When the light had dimmed, the rain cleared up, but the cry still rang strong and loud. 

It was a woman who finally pushed her way to the front gate. She rushed passed the soldiers, who tried to keep her inside, and she opened the bolt of the door and ran onto the causeway. The causeway bridged Minas Tirith to the rest of the land of Gondor. Any who fell off the causeway would fall for a long time, before they hit the ground. 

She found the child, half hidden by a bush, and she picked him up carefully. When she was convinced the child was fully human, and not Orc or Goblin, Dwarf or Elf, she turned with him in her arms and rushed back towards the city. “What is it?” People asked her as she passed them. 

“A little boy,” she answered not looking at them. She did not look away from his face. Green eyes stared up at her, and on his forehead was a lightening bolt shaped scar. “He is blessed by the gods,” she whispered, staring reverently down at him. 

“Isildur’s heir!” One man shouted, rushing forward to have a look at the boy. The boy who had appeared out of air, in the lightening storm. 

Those who were listening in repeated the spoken words softly. Every one in the crowd whispered ‘Isildur’ and ‘heir’ with such hope that it made the soldiers nervous. The woman was taking the child to the Steward of Gondor. When the line of Isildur was broken, the steward’s grandfather had taken control of the throne and the city, ruling in the King’s stead. 

Lord Denethor was a proud man, brave and strong, but like all men he craved power. He ruled with an iron fist at times, when his eldest son was gone from home, and when Boromir was there with him, he was a kind and generous Lord. His desire for power overshadowed his desire to rule fairly. He could not bring himself to vacate the throne even if it would have been best for his people. 

When the woman brought Harry before the King, he took the boy from her arms with a smile and lied, “I will take care of him and raise him to take the throne.” 

Lord Denethor brought Harry to his rooms. “What do I call you, my usurper? You vile snake in men’s skin, risen from flames to evict me from my own city?” He pulled at the back of Harry’s baby-grow. He frowned, examining the strange piece of clothing when it was finally removed from the child’s body. He sent for a servant, who returned moments later with clothing for the child, borrowed from one of his citizens. On the inside of the baby-grow, in small golden letters were sewn the words ‘Harry Potter’. 

“Harry, is it? Such a common name for a child who will no doubt cause me great distress.” The child looked up at him calmly, remaining still as the King re-dressed him. “I shall call you Harrison, for it seems I cannot bring myself to dispose of you. You are too small, too young and you remind me of Boromir as a child. You shall live,” the Steward promised, “but you shall never rule Gondor.”

The next morning, Lord Denethor looked out over the city of Minas Tirith and announced that Isildur’s heir had died of fever during the night. The entire city mourned, their grief was strong for a boy who they had not known at all and Lord Denethor resented his people that they would wish him gone. 

It was in a room, directly beside his own, that Lord Denethor kept Harrison. He employed one servant, a young girl of fourteen years who was sworn to secrecy. She was taken from her family, and forced to live in the Citadel, and share the room with Harry. Her name was Genevieve and she would be Harrison’s friend and nurse until he turned twelve. 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Gondor. October 31st 1992. 

It was on Harry’s twelfth birthday (which they celebrated in October), a day that he celebrated with Genevieve and Lord Denethor only, that rumour reached Gondor of Isildur’s heir. At first, the people did not listen for they believed the child to have died many years ago. The rumours said that the heir was a man, named Aragorn, son of Arathorn and that he was a ranger from the North. Lord Denethor was enraged, and when he found the now twenty-four year old Genevieve telling Harrison stories of Isildur and the One Ring he ordered his soldiers to take her away. 

She was killed later that day, charged with treason. Though no one told Harrison, he knew he would never see her again. 

As Harry dreamt, he would see flashes of light. There were so many different coloured lights and with each light there was a spoken word. It was in a strange language, but Harry found that while he could not understand the language he could understand the intent. He knew that ‘Protego’ would protect him and would manifest as a shimmery, silver shield. He knew that ‘Crucio’ hurt terribly and it was the colour of blood. 

He practised when he was alone. He brought forward the memories of his dreams, the memories of those men in black robes and masks standing around and casting spells, and he held out his hand. “Incendio,” he said aloud, hoping that Denethor did not hear him. His hand caught fire, but it did not burn or hurt him. He threw his hand forward, and the ball of fire flew from his palm and began to eat away at the carpet. He waved his hand desperately, not knowing the name of any spell that could help him, but water jetted from his fingers and snuffed out the life of the fire. The smell of burning lingered in the room, and he didn’t have a window because Lord Denethor did not want anyone trying to glimpse into the room. 

A knocking sounded at the door, and Harrison glanced around the room with wide eyes. A moment before the door swung open, he blew out the candle and threw it to the ground. 

“I heard you yell, my boy,” Lord Denethor spoke as he entered the room. He took a look over his shoulder and closed the door again. He locked himself inside with Harry. Denethor took a deep breath and frowned. He moved to the left side of the room and opened the slats in the wall. 

There was a door on the right that led to a private latrine for Harrison’s use, and the wall on the left led to the King’s adjoining set of rooms. The slats in the wall were generally used for spying on important captives but Denethor used them to air out Harry’s rooms, always keeping his own windows open. 

“What is that smell?”

“I knocked down my candle, my lord.” Harrison spoke quietly. He didn’t talk to other people often, just the King and Genevieve before she died. He was usually content to speak to himself, practising the spells from his dreams or learning languages from books and texts and parchments that the King had brought before him. 

Denethor picked up the candle and placed it on the nightstand. “Be more careful, my child, I would not have you burn to death.” He left the room then, casting one more lingering glance at his secret ward, and locked the door behind himself. 

Not wanting to press his luck, Harrison refrained from practising magic for the rest of that week. Instead, he immersed himself in a long roll of parchment that dictated the history of Middle-Earth under the Age of Sauron. It was written by the Elves, in Elvish and Harrison was trying to translate it, though it was a painstaking task. 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Gondor. 1997. One year before the Council at Rivendell. 

Faramir watched his father with curious eyes. Lord Denethor walked along the corridor to his bedchamber, but he had passed by the door. Half-hidden in the wall was a second door, the door to the only other room in that corridor. Faramir had come to seek his father’s wisdom, and instead had found the man wondering wraith-like up and down the corridor before he seemed to find the courage to open that door. 

Faramir wondered what terror was hidden inside that could unnerve his father so. He waited, hidden out of sight, until the door opened once again and his father was gone on his way back to the Citadel. When his father was out of sight, he would open the door. 

Inside the room, Harrison looked up from his book. It was a book on the Wizards, of which there were very few left alive. The head of their Order was named Saruman the White, though Harrison found he admired the Grey Wizard, Gandalf, more. From the way he had been written it seemed Gandalf was the wittier one. 

“My lord?” The seventeen-year-old asked, as he sat up. He had no need to bow before the King. Lord Denethor expressly forbid it when they were alone together. And they were always alone together since the Steward had told everyone Harry had died. When it was revealed that Harry was not Isildur’s heir it had been too late to tell of his existence. 

“You have grown well, boy. In to a fine and handsome young man.” Harrison’s eyebrows drew together and he frowned as a hand came forward to cup his cheek. A thumb ghosted over his lips and green eyes widened as Denethor leant down. Their lips were inches apart when the Steward pulled back, frowning. “Though I wish I could keep you for myself, I must not.” For then Harry would have to rule alongside of him, and Lord Denethor had no desire to share his throne, despite how he desired Harrison. 

“Nonetheless,” he continued, moving away from the teenager. “You are of age to be married, and I dare say you would make a fine husband for my son. Boromir is strong and handsome and brave, and he will care for you.” 

Harrison jumped from the bed, standing stiff and straight. “What?”

”He returns from Rohan tomorrow. You shall meet him then, and be wed as soon as possible.” The hand was on Harry’s face again, stroking gently. Black eyes softened as they watched the boy he had helped raise. “Perhaps once you belong to Boromir I will not wish to possess you as much as I do now.” 

When the door had closed behind the King, Harrison paced nervously. He had no wish to be married off to someone he had never met before. He heart clenched painfully at the very thought of it. He had planned to escape when he was old enough to take care of himself, and while he had not thought he would be so young still, Harrison knew he had to be gone before the following day. A part of him, the part that was instinctual and the part that guided him and guarded his hopes and dreams, insisted there was someone else out there for him. That someone was not yet ready to meet him, but Harrison could wait for them away from Minas Tirith if he had to. He would not marry the son of the King. 

He gathered all of his books, and scrolls, and clothing and shoved them all into a bag made of Warg skin. The King had gifted it to him as a gift years ago, though Harrison had never had use of it until now. 

The door creaked open, and Harrison’s head snapped up. Eyes narrowed. Why would his lord have returned so soon? A different face appeared through the crack in the door. Younger, but still a man: handsome too. His hair was fairer than the King’s, but the same length and style and Harrison could see the resemblance between them both. 

“Boromir?” He asked softly. 

The door opened wider and the man entered the room, though he left the door open after himself. “My name is Faramir. Who are you?” His voice was deep and coarse and Harrison knew instinctively that this person was not the one meant for him. 

“I did not know the King had another son.” Lord Denethor had never spoken of a second child. He had talked endlessly of Boromir, and every once in a while he called Harrison his ‘youngest son, though not of blood’, but he had never once mentioned a Faramir. 

“Well, he does. And who are you? His lover?” The man had crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Harry with disgust. 

Harry’s eyes were fixed on the sword at Faramir’s belt. “Your brother’s intended, actually.” Harrison drawled. Faramir jumped back in shock, his mouth wide. In a blur of movement, Harrison picked up his bag, and swung in onto his back. He held his hand out and shouted, “Accio,” and the sword flew towards him. “Now, get out of my way.” He ordered while pointing the sword at Faramir’s neck. 

The brunette moved to the side, allowing the teenager to pass him. Harrison ran, as fast as he could manage, along the corridor and then the next and the next. He raced towards sunlight, and despite the fact that he had never had cause to exercise much he did not tire easily. He shielded his eyes with his arm, the sword raised into the air, as he squinted, blinded by the sunlight. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the sun, though it was when he was seven and Lord Denethor had taken him into a private garden to view sunrise. It had happened just once, but when Harrison was nearly caught by a nosy soldier, Lord Denethor had changed their morning trips to ones done in secret in the black of night. 

His pale skin tingled as the rays fell upon it, and Harrison allowed himself just a small moment to stand still and smile. He enjoyed the light and the warmth and then he ran again. He was grabbed by the arm. The soldier who stopped him looked down at him sternly. “And where do you go, boy? With the sword of the Prince?”

“My Lord Denethor bid me bring it to him, sir,” Harrison answered hoping he appeared demure enough to appease the guard. “He bid me hurry, sir and I daren’t delay.” He fluttered his eyes lashes softly, scuffing his toes on the ground and biting his bottom lip nervously. 

The guard gave a disinterested nod and let Harry go. The boy took off running again and when he reached the gates he was very pleased to see it open. What was even better, in his opinion, was the horse standing on the causeway, already saddled with its rider nowhere in sight. Harry mounted it quickly. And having no idea how to ride a horse, he dug his heels into its side and pressed his hand to the side of its neck. The horse seemed to know what was desired of her, because she turned and galloped full pace away from Minas Tirith. 

He rode for days, away from Gondor and the shadow of Mordor. He did not know where he was headed, but he trusted in himself and the horse to lead him to wherever it was he was destined to be. His mare, which was beginning to tire, gave a neigh of protest and Harry was forced to dismount her and walk by her side. It was three hours later that the horse refused to move at all, and Harrison allowed himself to collapse to the floor in exhaustion. He was as far from Gondor as he thought he was going to get, especially since he had no food with him and had to scavenge for his meals. He could not hunt, he had never learnt how, though he had been relieved to find that the killing green light worked as well on animals as it did on people. He roasted two rabbits over a magically lit fire, and ate them silently. He would have to find a village soon, he thought, or somewhere to live for the near future. 

He remembered reading of Rohan, home of the Horse-Lords, and he wondered if they might take him in. 

It was a month later, which included the three-day stay he spent as the guest of an elderly couple in a small village, that he woke to find himself surrounded. He looked up from the ground, where he had curled under one of his cloaks, and was relieved to find that he was not the prisoner of Men. 

“You are Elves,” he spoke and his voice was almost like one of their own. Soft and musical, the words rolled off his tongue smoothly. “Why are you here?”

“Get up, man-child.” One of the dark haired Elves spoke. 

Harrison slowly got to his feet. He lay a hand against the mare’s flank when she began to move nervously and he smiled charmingly at the group of Elves. “Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo.” ( _A star shines on the hour of our meeting_ ). His smile widened as the Elves shot each other incredulous looks. 

“Who taught you to speak?” The Elf who had woken him asked. 

“I taught myself, though I know my pronunciation is in need of improvement. Perhaps you would be willing?” His sword was on the ground and as his eyes flickered towards it, a foot appeared. He looked up at the Elf who was standing on his weapon and narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“I am Haldir, of Lorien,” the Elf was beautiful in a masculine way, with long blond hair that Harry wanted to reach out and touch. “I serve the Lady of the Woods, and she greatly desires to meet Harry Potter.” The Elf who had woken him gave a frown at that, but Harrison ignored the brunette in favour of the blond. 

Harrison furrowed his brow, a frown playing at his lips. He vaguely thought he should know that name, but it escaped him as to why. “Who is Harry Potter?” He asked, in a small, confused voice.

Haldir shot him a soft look, a smile blooming on his handsome face. The other Elves looked at their leader and then to the human, and waited. “Why, you are, Harrison, ward of Denethor.” He held his hand out to the human and Harry took hold of it hesitantly. He could feel the magic within him uncoiling and slithering down his arm to touch against Haldir, but the magic rejected the Elf as his intended and Harry felt a little more comfortable about having to share a horse with the Elf. 

They rode on the backs of the Mearas for five days, and reached the forest they were to stop at in much less time than it would have taken Harrison on his own. Harry had slept for most of the journey, and they had had to set his mare wild for she could not keep up, but the Elves rode through night and day without rest or food. The forest they stopped at was beautiful, but there was a haunting chill to the air as Harrison made his way passed the first set of branches. 

“Welcome, to Lothlorien,” Haldir said, helping Harrison down from the white horse. “Come, Lady Galadriel awaits you.”

Hand in hand the two set off deeper into the forest, as the others followed silently. Harrison looked around wide-eyed as they stopped before two of the most beautiful Elves they had ever seen. They looked to be related, but as Elves did not age like humans did it was hard for Harry to tell whether they were mother and daughter or sisters. 

“My lady,” Haldir said, dropping into a bow before rising swiftly. “I present you Harrison. This is Lady Galadriel.” He did not introduce the second Elf. 

Galadriel reached out for Harry’s hand, and the boy let go of Haldir and took her hand instead. “Come with me, son of men,” she whispered and Harrison wasn’t sure whether she had spoken out loud or if he had imagined her voice in his head. 

When they were alone, they stopped in front of a large stone basin. It was raised up, like a fountain, and she bid Harrison to fetch an urn full of water from the other fountain in the courtyard. Galadriel poured the water into the basin and stepped backwards. She waved towards it, her eyes on Harrison’s face. 

“What is it?”

“A mirror.” She answered him, her lips not moving an inch. “It shows things that were, things that are and some things that have not yet come to pass. Look into it and tell me what you see.”

He lent over the basin and gasped. Before his eyes his reflection rippled and changed until he could no longer see himself in the water. Instead he looked down upon a golden haired Elf, who wore a circlet about his head. He stood next to his father, an Elf who must have been very old because he looked to be in his fifties and his hair was beginning to grey. The King turned to his son and narrowed his eyes. “A human had escaped from Gondor,” he said, “I knew they had slave markets there!” 

The younger Elf rolled his eyes and spoke. As he spoke, Harrison felt his heart hammering within his chest, filled with the desire to hear him speak again. “There are no slave markets in Gondor, father. There has not been for many years now. If you left Mirkwood once in a while, you would know this as I do.”

“Legolas!” The King warned, though the Prince only laughed. 

When the image changed again, Harrison found himself looking over a group of people, one of which was the Elf Legolas. A Dwarf, two men and four of the most curious creatures Harry had ever seen accompanied the Elf. They were speaking of a Ring. The Ring swam into his field of vision then, and Harrison drew back with a gasp. The One Ring. It was the Ring of Sauron!

The Ring disappeared, as a child rang through the centre of it, laughing wildly. The blond Elf chased after the child, and Legolas scooped his son into his arms and spun them both around and around. Harry saw himself, looking no more than two years older, though the child appeared to be around seven, watching them. Elves and Men surrounded him, and he could see Legolas’ father and Faramir of Gondor in the crowd.

“Le melon,” Legolas said. ( _I love you_ ). He smiled at Harrison. 

Harry pulled back with a gasp. When he looked back down at the water, it was still, and only his reflection looked back at him. 

“I know what it is you saw,” Lady Galadriel whispered, “for I saw it in my mind too.” 

“He is-” Harrison began but allowed himself to trail off, turning his face away from the beautiful Elf. 

“You are his mate, young man. And his name is Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of the Woodland Realm, son to the King of Mirkwood.”

“Well, that is a mouthful.” 

Lady Galadriel allowed her lips to pull up into a small smile, before she grew serious. “There is a threat arising from Mordor. War will begin in less than a year from now, and your mate will be at the fore of the battle. Are you prepared to accept this?”

“I want to help him.” Harrison said softly, looking back at her face. 

“And so you shall, but first we must have Haldir train you. The future you saw will not come to pass if this war is lost. You must not allow the ring-bearer to fail.” He nodded at her. She led him out of the courtyard and back to the trees that they all lived in. “Come,” she told him and he followed as she walked in another direction. 

They found Haldir and several others waiting in a clearing. The brunette Elf from earlier had the sword Harrison stole from Faramir and he held it out silently as they drew close. The moment Harrison’s hand gripped the hilt of the sword, Haldir drew his own sword and disarmed Harry in one swift move. “Pick it up, try again.” He ordered. 

Lady Galadriel watched them test the young man. Then they stopped and began to explain to him different manoeuvres he could use, different ways of attacking and defending and how he could compensate with a shield if he ever lost his sword. She watched all silently, but in Harrison’s mind, the words sounded, “train hard son of man, for you will be needed to defend the ring-bearer.” 

_The time will soon come, when Hobbits will shape the fortunes of all._

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, the Forest of Lothlorien. March 1998.

Harrison had trained hard. He had driven himself more and more with each day that passed, striving to be the best he could possibly be. Though he knew, no matter how good a fighter he was, death could always take him by chance and so he should not become cocky and he should always accept help from a friend when it was offered. Lady Galadriel came to sit beside him, as Haldir led a small group of men into the forest. Apparently the Fellowship of the Ring was on its way towards them. 

With a deep breath, Harrison looked at the woman who had become the closest thing to a mother he had ever had. “Why, in my vision, did I not look older?” 

A hand cupped his cheek, but her touch did not disturb him as much as Lord Denethor’s had. “My granddaughter, Lady Arwen Undōmiel of Rivendell, has chosen a mortal life. She wishes to spend her days with her human lover and the child she knows she will have with him.”

“If he survives,” Harry said. 

“If he survives.” Lady Galadriel agreed. “Should she chose to forsake her Elvin heritage and her immortality, the Valar has granted my request to give it to you.” Harry’s eyes widened and he sat up straighter, his mouth forming a little o. “Would you wish to live forever with your mate?”

“Of course!” He exclaimed. 

“Then the mate of an Elf should become an Elf himself.” She said with a small smile. “But only if Lady Arwen gives up her immortality before she fades.”

If Aragorn died before he and Arwen could be reunited, she would die from her grief at his passing. Elves generally lived forever, though a wound could still kill them, and they could die from grief, which was known as ‘fading’. If Aragorn and Arwen were to come together and she still wished to become mortal for him, the Valar would gift her immortality to Harrison. It would not happen until the battle for Middle-Earth was over, and it would not happen if either he or Aragorn died, but Harrison was determined to live to see the end. And he would keep Aragorn alive if he could help it. 

“I will not hold out hope.” He said with a small smile. 

“We give our hope to Men,” she whispered, “we keep none for ourselves.”

“Am I not a man still?” He teased, standing and running from the clearing as he heard the sound of Haldir’s voice. As a human, his eyesight and hearing was not as good as an Elf’s but he had trained for a year among them, learning to use what power he did possess to the best of his abilities. He had trained himself to hear what other humans could not, but his sight was still nowhere near as good as Lady Galadriel’s. She saw them return long before Harry heard them, but she watched with a smile as Harrison ran to greet them. He moved gracefully, like an Elf, she noted with a fond feeling in her chest. 

“Nine that were set out from Rivendell, yet eight there are before me. Where is Gandalf?” She asked. She rested her hand on Harrison’s shoulder, trying to keep him from fidgeting. 

His eyes flickered from her to Legolas, then quickly around the group before landing on Legolas again. Aragorn was the one who lowered his gaze and offered the Lady a dip of his head. “Gandalf has fallen to Shadow.” He told her, though he suspected she already knew that. 

Legolas couldn’t keep his eyes off of the human, though he would not speak of it, the attraction was instantly there. There was something about the young man that drew him in, which entranced him like a spell of some kind. He could feel his heart beating faster, and when the Gimli asked the question Legolas longed to know the answer to he waited impatiently for the answer. 

“Who are you, man? What are you doing with the Elves?” The Dwarf was shorter than even the Hobbits, and his hair hung down his back in one long braid, and his beard covered most of his face and the front of his chest as well. 

Harrison smiled, “I am Harrison, ward of Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor.” He noticed one of the Men start at that, the one who stood beside Aragorn. “And I am ward to Lady Galadriel, Prince of Lothlorien.” Legolas looked a little surprised at that and turned to face Haldir, a question in his blue eyes but his fellow Elf only smiled back at him. Haldir had always joked that royalty should marry royalty and so the Lady of the Woods had adopted him into her heart and family, as her only other child had sailed to the Undying Lands already. “And who are you?”

“I am Peregrin Took!” One of the Hobbits exclaimed, rushing forward to grab his hand and pump it furiously. 

Another Hobbit took his other hand, “and I am Meriadock Brandybuck.”

“But you can call us Pippin and Merry, respectively,” Pippin told him. 

The larger Hobbit stepped forward hesitantly, though Harrison noticed the ring-bearer remained at Aragorn’s side. “I am Samwise Gamgee of the Shire. That is Mr. Frodo Baggins.” Frodo offered him a shy smile though he did not come any closer. Harrison shook hands with Sam and then turned to the Dwarf. 

“And you, Aier,” ( _Short one_ ), he asked, “who does not seem to like my being here, who are you?”

“I am Gimli, son of Glöin, Dwarf-lord of the mountains.” His hand gripped his axe tightly as he looked up at the human. Harrison smiled down at him. “And,” he continued with a growl, “despite my shortness, I dare say I could take you in a fight, child.”

Haldir let out a chuckle and Harrison’s smile grew. “You can try.” His attention turned to the last man, who he eyed warily. He recognized the shape of his face, and the colour of his hair and eyes and frowned. “So this is Boromir? The way your father spoke of you I would have thought you a saint or a martyr. He almost seemed to forget you have a brother.”

Boromir stepped forward, but Aragorn’s hand fell onto his shoulder and the man stilled. “And who are you to criticise my father?”

“I was his prisoner for sixteen years, and when I came of age, he wished to make me your intended. Did he never mention me? Strange, since I heard of nothing but you and how well matched we were.” He smirked, loving the angry flush that crossed Boromir’s face, “in fact, your father believed himself well matched to me, as well. I was desirable and he desired me, so you see, a perfect match.” 

“You filthy whore of a liar!” Boromir shrieked, drawing his sword. Almost instantly the Elves that had gathered around them notched arrows into their bows and had them pointed at the Fellowship, Legolas included. 

“My brothers, please,” Legolas tried to reason, raising his hands slowly. “Boromir put your sword away!” 

“Marcaunon,” ( _Harry/Henry_ ), Haldir chastised, moving to the front of the group so he could look on Harrison, “do not antagonize him needlessly.”

“Very well.” The young man said with a roll of his eyes. He turned to the last remaining member of the group and frowned. “So you are Isildur’s heir.” He snorted and turned to Lady Galadriel. “We look nothing alike, how could they mistake me for him?” 

“The minds of Men are strange,” she whispered back. “Come, come,” she said looking straight at Frodo, “you must be hungry.”

After they had eaten, they each wandered off in small groups. The Hobbits clustered around Frodo, holding their hands over a small fire. The Elves patrolled their lands, or watched the strangers, or listened in on their human family member. Aragorn had gone in search of Boromir, whom he found slumped over on a rock. “What troubles you my brother?”

“Your brother? You who seek to dethrone my father.” 

Aragorn just smiled. “I can still remember it, the white tower of Ecthelion, under the sun, shinning like diamonds.”

“The splendour of the white city, the tree standing tall and proud in front of the Citadel.” Boromir finished, offering a smile to his companion. “My father did speak of him, Harrison, I mean. He punished Faramir fiercely. I returned home from Rohan, and my father was inconsolable, he kept crying about how his child was gone from him forever, and I couldn’t understand what he meant. Both Faramir and I were in the room with him, but he would let neither of us near him. When my father regained his senses, he had Faramir whipped. He kept shouting about running Harry off, and when I asked who Harry was, he told me I would have loved him.” Aragorn wrapped an arm around Boromir’s shoulders, hugging him comfortingly. “My father’s rule is failing, Aragorn. Since Harrison escaped, my father is slowly giving in to madness. Do you think-”

Aragorn interrupted him, a hand raised to silence his companion. “No, I do not believe they were lovers. Your father may have desired him, who wouldn’t after looking at him, but I do not believe they were.”

“Yet, my father grieves as if his whole world is lost.” Boromir looked up at him and frowned, “I heard her, in my mind, she told me that my father has had Harrison locked up since he was one. How would you forgive the imprisonment of a child, Aragorn?” 

The Ranger didn’t answer. 

On the other side of the forest, Harrison led Legolas to the courtyard that Lady Galadriel had once showed him his future in. “Where are you brining me?” The blond Elf asked, though he was not wary or cautious. He did not feel afraid with this man, which was strange because he was usually so alert, ready for danger. But now he was completely at ease, a small smile on his usually expressionless face as he followed the human eagerly. 

“I am taking you to the mirror.” Harrison told him. “I want you to tell me what you see.”

They stopped, and Legolas took a seat on the rim of the fountain. Harry leant over him, dipping an urn into the water and filling it to the brim. “Come,” he beckoned and walked to the other fountain that was empty. He poured the water into the basin, filling it, and held his hand out to Legolas. 

The Elf looked into the water and gasped. Whatever it was he saw had startled him, but Harrison watched him calmly waiting for the vision to end. Unlike the Lady, he was not able to see into the minds of others. “What did you see?”

“I saw you!” The Elf gasped, reaching out to take hold of the human’s shoulders. He pulled Harry closer to him, gripping him tightly. “I saw you escape from Gondor, and I saw Haldir find you and bring you here.”

“That had already happened, what else?” Harrison asked. 

“I saw us, talking, me holding you.” He swallowed heavily, “and then I saw Sauron’s eye. That cursed eye, wreathed in fire, and it was looking directly at you. I watched you die, and did nothing.” 

“That has not yet come to pass. It may, and it may not,” Harry told him softly. He smiled widely, “did you see this?” He asked. Before Legolas could answer him, he leant forward, titling his head up so that his lips met the Elf’s. Rather than push him away, Legolas pulled him closer. The bond between them warmed them both as they clung to one another, their tongues and lips meeting and parting for one another. Moans fell from both Legolas’ throat and Harrison’s. Harry shifted closer to him. As Legolas leant back against the mirror, Harry came to stand between his spread legs, his arms around the Elf’s neck as Legolas gripped the human’s waist tightly. 

“Forgive me,” Harry panted as they pulled apart. “But I have been waiting for a year for you, and I must admit it was a very long year.” He smiled winningly at the Elf, who gazed back, slack jawed. 

“You are my mate,” he said at last. 

“I am.” Harrison whispered, leaning up to steal another kiss. 

Legolas held him close for a moment, smiling at the feel of Harry pressed against the length of him. “You must stay safe. Stay here, or I’ll send you back to my father. You will be safer either way, than with me.”

“But I would rather go with you. I have trained to go with you, and I am not as defenceless as I seem.” Harrison tried to reason, but Legolas would hear none of it. 

“I will keep my mate safe.” He insisted. 

“And should the Crown Prince not be kept safe also? So that your father will have an heir?” 

“That is different!” Legolas insisted. He tried to kiss Harrison again but the boy pulled back with a glare. 

“Why? Because you are three-hundred-years-old and I am not yet eighteen? I have trained to fight in this war, Elf,” Harrison hissed, pulling away in anger. “I must protect the ring-bearer and the future King of Gondor!” 

“What do you know of the Ring?” Someone asked and they both turned around to face Gimli and the four Hobbits. All of their faces were red with embarrassment from having watched the two males kissing. Frodo clutched at his throat, and Harrison could see the glint of gold beneath his parted fingers. 

“That it must be destroyed,” he said simply. 

“And are you the one to do it?” Gimli mocked, his hand on his axe again as he tried to determine whether the human was a threat to Frodo or not. 

“No, but he is.” He nodded to the curly haired Hobbit and smiled softly, “we should be leaving soon. You should probably go and find the two Men. My Lady has a gift for you all.” Harrison suddenly turned away from them, his hands gripping the rim of the basin as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

In his mind, he saw them, Orc after Orc after Orc, all of them marching away from the two towers as Saruman looked down over them and laughed. At the head of the army was one who was larger then the rest, more fierce looking and stronger. “Do you like my Uruk-hai?” he heard a voice ask him just as he opened his eyes. 

“An army marches towards you from Isengard. We must hurry.” Harrison didn’t give them time to ask questions or protest. He strode forward, and grabbed Frodo by the arm. “Quickly. Gandalf is here no longer to protect you. You must listen to what I say from now on.” 

Three boats, long and pointed at the end like a gondola, waited on the shore of a great river. The forest of Lothlorien looked out over them as Lady Galadriel said her goodbyes to Harrison. “If you ever need our aid, my son,” she whispered, her hand on his cheek. 

“I will need your faith every day I am gone, but I will have courage for I know I will see you again.” 

A hand fell onto his shoulder and he turned around and hugged Haldir tightly. “Despair not, little human man,” the Elf said with a laugh. 

“I do not despair for you,” Harrison exclaimed, “why, I shall hardly miss you!” Haldir chuckled again and hugged the boy once more; all the while aware of the dark looks Legolas was shooting him. As they spoke, Lady Galadriel approached Frodo and held out a small glass bottle, which was glowing. 

“I give you the light of Eärendil, our most beloved star. May it be a light in the darkness, when all other lights go out.” 

She watched them sail away, four Hobbits in one boat, two Men in the other, and the final three in the final boat. Harrison waved back at her, from his seat beside Legolas, a small smile playing on the edge of his lips. “I Melain berio le,” ( _May the Valar keep you_ ), he whispered and he knew she heard him, because she raised her hand to him in return. 

“Oh great,” scoffed Gimli, “now I am stuck with two Elves!” Harrison just smiled at him, before turning to watch the trees go passed. 

Legolas steered the boat, refusing to allow Harry to help when he offered even though Harrison would have used magic to propel them forward. In time they pulled the boats towards shore, just before the river ran over into a waterfall. They tied up the boats and lit a small fire, though, again, when Harrison offered to do it for them they turned him down. He watched, smirking, as Boromir struggled to light the fire as the wind persistently blew it back out. 

“Why do you smirk so?” Legolas asked. 

“Because you are all foolish and making things difficult.” 

“How so?” Merry asked, leaning forward onto the balls of his feet. He had some sticks in his arms and he dropped them down beside Boromir before turning to look at the younger human again. 

“He would not let me near the oar and Boromir will not let me light the fire.”

“I was never much good at lighting fires,” Pippin told them; dropping more sticks to the ground. “Are you?”

“Very good, yes.” Harrison looked down at Boromir with a smirk. The man gritted his teeth and thrust two sticks towards Harry. 

“By all means, oh magnificent one, impress me.” Boromir waved to the pile of sticks that would not catch light. He frowned at the other human, who was still smirking. 

Harry dropped the two sticks Boromir had been rubbing together and chuckled. He pointed his finger at the pile and whispered, “Incendio,” and a flame appeared. It began to eat at the wood hungrily and Harrison grinned as he added more sticks to the fire. “Impressive enough for you, oh Kotyaer?” ( _Hostile one_ ). 

As the fire burned, Merry came forward and frowning asked, “how do you know that there are Orcs coming after us?”

“I know a lot of things Meriadock Brandybuck. Most especially about those crops you keep stealing,” Harrison said with a raised eyebrow. 

The Hobbit looked at Pippin, and then the two of them blushed wildly. “How do you know about that?” Pippin asked, shocked. 

“I have been watching you all.” He said simply. He looked to Legolas, and the Elf’s eyes widened as he remembered the mirror. 

“But why do you watch us?” The blond asked. He moved towards his mate, and place a hand on his cheek, cupping it. “Did you distrust us or fear us?”

“No,” he said softly, raising a hand to cup Legolas’ cheek as well. Their mouths met sweetly, their lips brushed against one another’s softly and smoothly, well practised as if they had been together all of their lives instead of a few days. “But, like one should know their enemies, one should also know their friends.” 

He received identical smiles from all four Hobbits, and Legolas. Boromir crossed his arms over his chest and glared, and Gimli rolled his eyes and muttered about ‘suspicious humans’, while Aragorn chuckled. 

“We are on the wrong side of the shore,” Aragorn said sometime later as they sat around the fire eating. Lady Galadriel had given them some Elven food and drink to last them until they reached Rohan, at least. She had also gifted them all with Elven cloaks that would help conceal them when they needed to hide. 

Merry nibbled at the bread, watching Aragorn think. “What is this called?” He asked Legolas. 

“Lembas bread,” it was Harrison that answered. “One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man.”

Merry snorted and turned to Pippin. “How many did you eat?”

“Four!” 

The laughed, but fell silent when Aragorn spoke again. “We need to cross to that side, and then head North to Mordor.”

“North?” Gimli exploded, jumping to his feet. “You wish to go north? Through Emyn Muil, the labyrinth of rocks, and then through the stinking, dirty Dead Marshes? I do not think that is the way Gandalf intended us to go!”

“Gandalf did not intent for a lot of things, Gimli,” Legolas said trying to stop an argument before it started. Harrison would have suggested the way Haldir had taken him to Lothlorien, for it headed back in the direction of Gondor and Mordor, but he really didn’t want to arrive at Gondor sooner than was necessary. It might have been selfish of him, but he could deal with fighting for a few months longer if they took the road Aragorn wanted to go. 

It was later that day that Boromir found Frodo wandering around on his own. The Ring was handing on the end of a chain, in bare view and Boromir longed to reach out and take it. And that is what he tried to do. He fought and he struggled and Frodo kicked out at him and begged, and in the end Frodo and the Ring escaped from him. Boromir sank to the floor, his face in his hands as he cried. “Frodo, I’m sorry, Frodo! Come back!” 

Harrison watched him weep, from the branches of one of the trees. He did not move to comfort him, nor had he moved to protect Frodo. He had known, deep down that Boromir was a good man. He would not have hurt Frodo, not even for the Ring of power. It was for that reason alone that Harrison jumped in front of him as the Orcs appeared. He had Faramir’s stolen sword in his right hand, and he held his left hand out in front of him as well. Boromir looked up, noticing the Orcs a minute after Harrison had, and he got to his feet as well. 

Sword in hand, and back to back, the two Men fought against the forces of Mordor. Two little Hobbits ran out into the way, and the two Men fought to save them. Boromir pulled up the horn that hung around his neck and he blew into it twice, taking a breath in between so he could cut off the head of the nearest foe. 

Harrison was holding his own, slicing Orcs and setting them on fire simultaneously. 

“Frodo... Where is Frodo?” Boromir panted as Aragorn ran towards them from the trees. 

”I let Frodo go.” He answered. 

”Then you did what I could not.” Boromir swung his sword again, killing an Orc that was sneaking up behind Harrison. 

Legolas arrived followed by Gimli, and each of them fought valiantly, though the Elf seemed to be fighting in a circle around Harrison. The human stood, frowning, with his hand on his hips as Legolas killed anything that came too close. 

“I can fight for myself!” Harrison hissed, pushing passed his mate and running an Orc through with his sword. 

”It is my right to protect you.” 

Aragorn had gone, chasing after the Orcs who had followed Frodo and Sam. Gimli had gone to help him. “Go! Go!” Harrison told him, as Frodo gave a cry that echoed back to them. 

As soon as Legolas was out of sight, the Uruk-hai appeared. His head was visible at first, only, and Harrison thought he seemed to be smaller than in the vision. And then the monster came to the top of the hill, and he towered above all of the others. Merry and Pippin were shoved to the side, and Boromir jumped in front of them, slaying as many evil creatures as he could reach. Harrison focused on the Uruk-hai. He knew what would happen to Boromir, and while he might not be able to stop it happening, he could give the other man a fighting chance to escape. 

”Take them and go!” He shouted. Stubborn as he was, Boromir did not budge. 

It was an hour later, as the Orc number was dwindling that the Uruk-hai joined the fight. He pulled an arrow from the sheath on his back and notched it against the bow. He let it go and it struck Harrison in the arm as he jumped in front of Boromir. “Get out of here!” He shouted again, shoving at the elder man. 

“I am not afraid to die for freedom.”

“Damn it, you need to protect them.” A wave of his hand sent the Uruk-hai to its knees, but it notched another arrow and this one struck Boromir’s heart. The man lurched forward, but kept fighting. Harry had to admire his bravery. If it wasn’t for Legolas, he thought briefly that Boromir might have made a fine husband for him. A second arrow hit Boromir and he finally slumped to the floor. The Uruk-hai ran forward, and as Harrison was distracted by his fallen friend, the monster slammed the base of his sword against the boy’s head. Harry crumpled to the ground, unconscious but alive. 

It reached down for him, but found he couldn’t touch the man. Some sort of magical barrier had appeared between his hand and the unconscious human. Snarling he strode away. “He will die from the injury,” he told the other Orcs, not knowing that Harrison’s magic had already begun to heal the wound. “Take the Hobbits!” 

Merry and Pippin were grabbed around the waist and dragged away, all the while screaming and shouting for help. 

When the rest of the Fellowship came back, Frodo and Sam were not with them. Aragorn’s attention was caught by the gargling noises Boromir was making as he tried to breath around the blood that was filling his mouth. “They got the little ones,” he slurred as his fellow human knelt beside him. “Harrison, hurt him, they hurt,” he tried to speak but began to cough instead. 

Legolas was by Harry’s side, and he took a deep breath before speaking. “He is alive, but unconscious. I cannot touch him without feeling as if my hand is on fire.” 

Harrison eventually woke up, but not in time to heal Boromir. His eyes fluttered open in time to see one of the boats float away from them, down the river and towards the waterfall. It was with great pains that the remaining three had carried the two men to the shore. There was a boat docked at the other side of the river and Harrison sent a prayer to the Valar for the ring-bearer and his friend. 

“I was too late for Boromir?”

“He died, a short while before you woke.” Aragorn told him softly. They watched in silence as the boat disappeared over the fall. 

“Hurry! Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore.” Legolas said, running to the remaining boat. Aragorn only watched him silently. “You mean not to follow them.”

“Frodo’s fate is no longer in our hands.” The Ranger said. 

“Then it has all been in vain. The fellowship has failed.” Gimli looked between them both before dropping to the floor, looking and feeling disappointed. 

“Not if we hold true to each other. We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left. Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let's hunt some Orc.” Aragorn touched the Dwarf on top of the head and Gimli looked up at him and smiled. 

“YES!” He shouted, jumping to his feet. 

Harry watched them, smiling softly to himself. Maybe Lady Galadriel had been wrong when she spoke to Frodo. Maybe the Fellowship of the Rings would hold true, and if so, it might just be enough to defeat Sauron for good. 

They gathered their things together, and as they cleaned up Aragorn sang softly to himself in the language of the Elves.

“Who is she? This woman you sing of?” Gimli asked suddenly, looking between the other three who could all speak Elvish and understand the words of the song.

“’Tis the Lay of Lúthien. The Elf-maiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal.” Aragorn answered him after a pause. 

Before Harrison could warn him not to, Gimli asked, “What happened to her?”

“She died.”

“Arwen will not die before she is ready to, of that I promise you.” Harrison whispered, but it was loud enough for the Elf and Aragorn to hear him. “And neither will Merry or Pippin,” he added louder. 

“We won’t let it happen.” Legolas promised, taking his mate’s hand in his own. 

And so ends the first arc of Harrison’s extraordinary life. He and his friends chased after the Uruk-hai and the Orcs, but whether or not they found them in times to save the Hobbits is a story for another time. 

**XXX**

* * *

I really wanted to save Boromir! Cries. 

Thanks for reading. Please leave a review if you think Legolas had great hair!


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry that I didn’t add this sooner. I’ve been stressing out over my next Loki Month fic (which just won’t let me get the porn over and done with) and which is due tomorrow! I’m also sick, so, yeah. Sorry! 

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**Words:** 9,363  
 **Chapter 2/3**  
 **Sparkle II**  
Middle-Earth, running after the band of Orcs. April 1998. 

Harrison wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He panted as he ran along behind Legolas and Aragorn. Neither of the two males seemed to have tired any since they started running, and Harrison envied them that. Gimli was somewhere behind him, panting heavier than Harry was, and the both of them were in danger of being left behind soon. 

“Keep up!” Aragorn shouted. 

“Dwarves are wasted on cross-country,” Gimli hollered back. He stopped, resting a moment with his hands pressed against his thighs. “We Dwarves are better sprinters.” 

Harry smiled back at him, and stopped as well to wait. Legolas turned his head slightly and seeing Harrison standing still, he paused too. They had been running for three days, stopping only once to eat a little and rest. They had left place soon after Harrison had woken up and healed, and they headed down along side the river name searching for the band of Orcs who had kidnapped their friends. 

Legolas and Aragorn had been trained for years to fight and keep their endurance up for hours and days at a time. But Harrison had less than a years practise, and before that he had been confined to the one room with no cause to run at all. Gimli, with the shortest legs of them all, was finding it even more difficult to keep up. Aragorn seemed to take pity on them, because he stopped running and walked back towards them. Legolas followed his friend. The blond Elf offered his mate a smile and Harrison grinned back before dropping to the floor, thoroughly exhausted. 

“It’s about time,” Gimli groused, as he sat beside the other human. The each produced a loaf of Lembas bread from their pockets, took one small bite, and put the rest away again. “My blisters have blisters,” the Dwarf continued to complain. 

“If you are unable to keep up with the rest of us,” Legolas teased, “then you should have remained behind.”

“A Dwarf, unable to keep up with an Elf? I’ll die before I see it!” Gimli shot to his feet, a fierce glare on his face as he looked between Legolas and Aragorn. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go! Unless the Elf is too tired.” 

Legolas pointed at his own chest, his mouth open as he began to protest that he hadn’t been the one who wanted to stop. Harrison’s mouth pressed to his own, silencing him immediately. Legolas’ arms came to wrap around Harry’s waist, tugging their bodies closer together. Pressed tightly against one another, Harrison could feel every inch and muscle of Legolas’ body. He moaned, the sound muffled by the Elf’s tongue and lips, and he clung to his mate; a hand fisting in long blond hair, the other cupping the back of his neck, pulling himself up to press his mouth more firmly against Legolas’. They moaned together, pulling back to draw ragged breathes only to be met with silence. Harrison was rather expecting Gimli to make a rude comment, because the Valar knows he wasn’t going to offer thanks for changing the subject. 

They drew apart, Harrison’s waist still held in Legolas’ grip, and the Elf led them both forward. Aragorn and Gimli were crouched down a few meters away, and when they were all stood together, the Ranger held his hand out. In the palm of his hand sat a small golden broach, in the shape of a leaf. It was dirty and muddied, with a noticeable footprint covering it, but it was small enough that it could only belong to a Hobbit. 

“Not lightly do the leaves of Lorien fall,” Legolas whispered as he reached out to run a finger down the length of the leaf. 

“They may yet be alive,” Harrison said, grinning. “Merry and Pippin might be alive.” 

“Come,” Aragorn told them, as he began to move away, “we head towards Rohan. The Orcs would have to pass there. They are only a day ahead of us, if we hurry we can cut them off.”

Seven hours later they were still running, and Gimli was once again falling behind. Legolas had offered to carry him once, but the vehement protests Gimli gave at being carted around by an Elf stilled any offer that Harrison had considered giving. They ran on, Legolas had slowed himself down to run alongside his mate, who had refused to outstrip Gimli by much and that left Aragorn in the lead by quite a stretch. 

“What are you thinking?” The Elf whispered, knowing that Harrison had trained his ears to hear the quietest of sounds. 

“I want to help him, but he won’t let me.” They both turned their heads to watch Gimli, huffing and puffing, as he chased them up the hill. “Keep a secret?” Legolas nodded slowly, his blue eyes narrowing on Harrison’s right hand as it was raised. A finger pointed to the Dwarf and Harry whispered, “Levicorpus.”

Legolas watched wide-eyed as Gimli rose off the ground. Harry waved his hand downwards, slowly, and Gimli moved along with the hand. The teenager smirked to himself as Gimli looked at the ground in confusion, but he was only barely floating now so he didn’t even notice it. Harrison cast a weightless charm on the weapons Gimli carried, as well as his own possessions. Then he carried on running. Legolas followed him silently, but he was rather amused to notice Gimli float passed them, his legs moving as it he were running but his feet never touched the ground. Harrison gave a giggle as Aragorn turned around and caught sight of the Dwarf. Grey eyes landed on Harrison’s smirking face and the teenager just gave a careless shrug and sprinted forward, catching up with the rest of the group. 

“What the hell-?” Aragorn began, but he cut himself off as Harrison gave a cry of pain and lurched forward. Legolas caught his mate, holding him pressed against his chest as Harry’s hand pushed against his forehead where his scar had suddenly started to hurt. 

In his mind he saw him. Saruman leant over a Palantir; the seeing stone was glowing crimson red in the centre, shaped like a fiery eye while the rest of it was black. His hands reached out to stroke it reverently as he spoke. _“The world is changing. Who now has the strength to stand against the armies of Isengard and Mordor? To stand against the might of Sauron and Saruman and the union of the Two Towers? Together, my lord Sauron we shall rule this Middle-Earth.”_

When Saruman stopped speaking, he looked up and smirked cruelly. He held the Palantir up, right in front of his face and then he turned it around so that Harrison could see it. “The world is changing, little human,” he said again. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but the eye in the stone flared brightly and he cried out as Sauron’s voice echoed around the inside of his mind. He screamed, and covered his face. 

Hands tried to pry his hand away from his face, but he screamed louder, thrashing and struggling frantically. Legolas pressed light kissed to the backs of Harry’s hands, whispering softly in Elvish that all was safe. With a sniffle, Harrison opened his eyes. The remaining Fellowship members looked down at him warily, as if afraid he would attack them, but Legolas held him gently and watched him with worry.

“Are you well?” The blond asked after a length of silence. 

“Yes.” 

“You didn’t look too well, Master Elf.” Gimli said, taking a respectful step backwards as Harrison rose to his feet. 

“It happens sometimes.” He told them carelessly, ignoring Aragorn’s piercing gaze. “More frequently, I admit, now that Sauron is gaining power.”

“You have the gift of foresight?” Aragorn asked in a whisper. “Lord Elrond of Rivendell does too. He is the only other I know who has the gift, but it doesn’t hurt him so much.”

“Lady Galadriel has the gift, but she mostly uses the mirror. Sometimes, she sees what will be based on her actions, and she can feel how she would have felt in the circumstances. I believe when Frodo offered her the Ring, she felt herself becoming consumed by evil.” 

“Are you ready to continue?” Legolas asked, his mouth pressed to the top of Harrison’s head. Harrison nodded, all the while thinking that the Elf was too tall for his own good. 

They kept going, this time Legolas remained in the lead. Every once in awhile he would turn back to stare at Harrison with longing and worry, but then he would carry on, taking his job as the scout seriously. “A red sun rises,” he called back to them, from where he sat perched on top of a rock. “Blood has been spilt this night.” 

Almost as soon as he finished speaking, the sound of hooves could be heard echoing across the land. They were not too far from Rohan now, and Aragorn thought with hope that despite the failings of Theoden King the city was preparing for war. Instead of the royal army, they found themselves surrounded by 2,000 strong men, each mounted upon a horse and holding a spear towards them. 

“What does two Men, a Dwarf and an Elf have to do in Riddermark?” The leader asked them, a sneer on his face. 

“We seek two of our friends,” Aragorn spoke. “They are Hobbits, only children to your eyes. We are tracking a band of Orcs who have taken them. Have you seen them?”

“Orcs, you say? We slaughtered a party of them during the night.”

“And the Hobbits?” Gimli asked, his hand on his axe again. “What of the Hobbits?”

“We left none alive.” The man, whose name was Éomer, told them. He lowered his eyes to the ground in apology, ignoring Aragorn’s gaze. 

“But you did not see them?” Harrison asked, “So they may still be alive?” Éomer shrugged his shoulders and kept quiet. “Who are you?”

“Éomer, son of Eomund, nephew of the King of Rohan. Though I, like my associates, have all been banished from our home by orders of Grima Wormtongue.” He looked down on Harrison and his eyes softened slightly. He held a hand out and Harrison took it, despite the growl Legolas let loose. A small flutter of lips touched the back of Harry’s hand, and he blushed. Éomer spoke again, releasing the boy’s hand. “Look for your friends. But do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands.” With that, he turned away. 

He rode towards the end of the group and returned with two horses in tow. “Here,” he said to Harrison, handing over both sets of reigns. 

“My name is Harrison, ward of Lord Denethor, King of Gondor, and adopted Prince of Lothlorien and Lady Galadriel.” 

An eyebrow rose. “Impressive,” he said. “Take these two. Hopefully you will be better masters than their last.” He turned back to his company and rode off. “We go North!” Echoed back to them as the other riders set off at a furious pace. 

Harrison watched them go, his head tilted to one side in thought before he turned to his friends. “We have horses?” 

“Someone has an admirer,” Gimli teased. He had been watching with the others as Éomer, having already gone some way away, turned his head to look back at Harrison. 

Legolas came up behind the boy, his arms around Harry’s waist and he held him tightly. “You are mine.” He hissed against Harrison’s throat. 

“With pleasure,” the boy breathed, his chest heaving slightly. He turned his head around, hoping for a kiss but Aragorn interrupted them. 

“Shall we leave? Perhaps it won’t be too late to find the little ones.” 

They mounted the horses, Harrison sitting behind Legolas, and Gimli rode with Aragorn. They rode in silence, their worry for their friends overwhelming their desire to talk or laugh, or in Gimli’s case, grumble. It wasn’t hard to spot the site the Orcs had been camped at. Aragorn stopped his horse, and stared open mouthed. Gimli peeked around from behind him and gasped. 

In front of them were six large piles of carcasses, each of them set alight and burning sluggishly. There did not appear to be a Hobbit in sight. Harrison was the first to jump down from his horse. He ran to the nearest tower of Orc bodies and using his hands began pulling them down, searching for Merry or Pippin. The others began attacking three other piles, digging and pulling frantically until Gimli let out a choked sob. 

They came towards him, Legolas and Aragorn with their jaw clenched so they wouldn’t cry and Harrison with tears in his eyes. “It’s one of their wee belts,” the Dwarf told them, holding up the charred remains of a child-sized belt. 

“Oh my friends, my friends forgive me that I live and you are gone.”1 Harrison whispered. He ran his hand over his face, brushing away the tears, before pressing it to his trembling mouth. 

“Wait, wait,” Aragorn yelled. He had walked away from them as Harry spoke and was now crouched down pointing at a patch of crushed grass. “Look at these markings. A Hobbit lay here.”

Legolas pointed beside that space, “and another lay here.”

“Drag marks? Maybe they crawled??” The two males looked at each other and offered hopeful grins. Aragorn walked, following the marks on the ground and stopped at the edge of a forest. “The tracks lead to Fangorn Forest.” The ranger told the others. 

Gimli swallowed heavily. “What madness brought them in to Fangorn Forest.”

“What’s so bad about the forest?” Harrison asked. He received three incredulous looks in reply. Legolas went first, but he kept one of his hands on the reigns of the horse which Harrison rode on. Gimli and Aragorn had chosen to walk alongside their Elven friend, and Harrison’s horse and the other horse were tied together, one leading the other. 

“What strange markings. I wonder what made them?” Aragorn said to himself. 

“I don’t want to know.” Gimli gave a shudder and Harrison giggled at him softly. He honestly didn’t see what was wrong with the forest. 

“This forest is old,” Legolas said as his eyes scanned the area around them, searching for danger. “It is full of memories and anger.”

“But it is not angry at us. Elves do not hurt the forests, Legolas. Why should this forest hold us accountable for the actions of Men and Orcs- Oh!” Harrison’s eyes went wide and he blushed as Aragorn sent him a withering look. “Sorry.” He whispered. 

The ranger just chuckled and shook his head, dismissing Harry’s comment. “You aren’t very good at keeping your opinions to yourself are you?”

”I’ve never had to be. Lord Denethor always wanted me to tell him the truth, except when I was learning about magic or Isildur, because I lied then. I only ever talked to him, so, uh sorry I suppose, if I say some things you all don’t want to hear.” 

“It is fine, master Elf,” Gimli grinned up at him. “We will just have to say some not very nice things back at you.” 

The two elder males let out identical sighs and shook their heads. Harrison’s head snapped up and he gave a gasp. He could feel it (how could the others not feel it?), it was all around him, humming and churning. The magic was alive! It wrapped around him, hugging and caressing him, and he arched his back into the touch, a soft moan leaving his lips.

“Harrison?” Legolas asked softly. He stopped walking and turned, reaching up to cup his mate’s cheek. Harrison looked at him with glassy eyes and smiled. 

“He’s so powerful.” The boy whispered. 

“Who is? Harrison, is someone coming?” Aragorn asked, joining them by the horse.

“Oh, his magic is beautiful,” was all the boy said. 

“For pities sake, boy, who?” Gimli shouted, losing his temper. 

“The White Wizard!” Shouts of ‘Saruman’ echoed through the forest, as each of them grabbed hold of their weapons. Harrison remained sitting on his horse, smiling serenely as the magic continued to brush against his face and his hair, testing him. “He will not harm us.”

“Saruman is coming, Harry. Get off of the horse and get your sword out.” Legolas ordered even as he stood protectively in front of his mate. 

“He will not harm us,” Harrison repeated. “Why do you all never listen to me?”

Gimli lowered his axe, eyeing the teenager warily. “He’s never been wrong before, has he?” 

“So it is not Saruman?” Aragorn said, looking around at his companions. Harrison just smiled at him. 

“No, I most certainly am not!” A voice said, and Harrison could taste the magic rolling off his tongue. White Wizards were powerful magicians, who had more magic than anyone could possibly need but they had their limits of course. The body could only take so much before it gave out. It was for that reason alone that most of the wizards magic hovered outside of their bodies, surrounding them like an aura, and when they were in dire need or terribly exhausted they could soak back up their own magic and harness it again. 

“GANDALF!” Three voices called. 

”So this is Gandalf?” Harrison asked, as he finally dismounted the horse. 

The Wizard stepped towards them, his staff raised. A bright white light emitted from the tip of the staff and, while the others shielded their eyes, Harrison looked straight at it. In the middle of the ball of light he could see Gandalf fighting with a demon made of fire. He watched Gandalf fall. 

“Gandalf the Grey, that is what they used to call me. But I am Gandalf the White.” He spoke softly, as if talking to himself, but his eyes travelled over each person individually forcing them to listen. “I fought the Balrog of Morgoth.”

“You fell,” Aragorn breathed. 

“Through fire and water.” The old man agreed. “I have been sent back until my time is done.” He gave a wave of his hand, beckoning them to follow as he led the way forward. When they came to a clearing, he gave a whistle and a pure white horse came running towards them, as if appearing out of thin air. 

“That is one of the Mearas unless my eyes play a trick upon me.” Legolas whispered, his hand moving forward as if to touch the animal, but it dropped at the last moment. 

“Shadowfax. Lord of all horses,” Gandalf told them as he mounted. 

“Have you never seen one before?” Harrison asked. “Lady Galadriel has loads of them. They are very beautiful.”

Legolas and Harrison got back onto their horse, and suppressed smirks as Aragorn had to lift Gimli onto the other horse. They rode after Gandalf, following him happily, all except for Harrison who couldn’t understand why they were leaving the Hobbits behind. Just because Gandalf said they were safe didn’t mean they should be abandoned. 

“It will be fine, mellon nin.” ( _My love_ ) Legolas kissed the back of Harrison’s neck, his arms tightened around the younger man’s waist as he pressed his chest flush to Harry’s back. The human gave a sigh, but resisted the urge to turn the horse around. 

“Where are we going?”

_They rode to Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Theoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown._

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Rohan. June 1998. 

Harrison looked around in awe as they arrived at the city. It was as magnificent as Gondor had been, but maybe Gondor was nicer and Harrison had only seen very little of it as he escaped. But Rohan was beautiful as well; the towers were tall, the roads clean, the glass was shining under the sunlight, and the gates opened silently and smoothly, allowing them entrance. They rode unchecked to the Golden Hall, and dismounted their horses. 

Three guards came towards them, leaving the large doors open behind them. “We will have to take away your weapons. You may not enter the Hall with them, orders of Grima Wormtongue.” They handed their weapons over, but Gandalf held tight to his staff. “And you Gandalf Greyhame.”

“You would not deprive an old man of his walking aid, would you?” Legolas and Aragorn traded amused looks as the guards nodded and let them enter, with the staff. 

“I told you to take his staff!” Grima hollered as Gandalf withdrew it from his robe. The man was tall, but he carried himself about with a hunch, bent around the shoulders, with greasy black hair falling to brush against his chest. “You see, my King, they come in here with their weapons to overthrow you.”

“Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth, serpent.” Gandalf hissed. With a wave of his staff the man was thrown across the room, towards the guards who immediately seized him. “Theoden, son of Thengel, too long have you sat in the shadows. Harken to me! I release you from the spell.” 

A bark of laughter erupted from the King’s mouth and Harrison gave a cry, his hand pressing to his forehead. He closed his eyes, and immediately he could see Saruman. The wizard was bent over his Palantir, his eyes narrowed as he answered, “Theoden is mine.”

“I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound.”

“Theoden will die,” Harrison heard the Dark wizard reply in his head, as well as hearing King Theoden say it himself. 

“You did not kill me, you will not kill him!” Gandalf roared as he thrust his staff towards the haggard looking King. As the staff touched Theoden, it glowed brightly and the King gave a hoarse cry. In Isengard, Harrison watched as Saruman was thrown across the room, giving a cry of his own in anger. Before their eyes the King began to change. He looked less old and less weary, he began to sit up straighter and his eyes widened as he looked around the Hall. A girl Harrison had not noticed before ran towards him, and grabbed his hands between her own. 

“Uncle?” She asked softly. 

“I know your face, Eowyn.” He reached out to cup her cheek and Harrison watched them critically. The actions were the same as how Lord Denethor had touched him, but the look on Theoden’s face was less… hungry. He didn’t know how to describe it, but as he watched them he felt a well of happiness bubble up inside of him. He turned to smile at Legolas and felt his breath catch as the Elf smiled back warmly. “Where is Theodred? Where is my son?” The King asked, and suddenly the smiles had vanished from everyone’s faces. 

Eowyn gave a sigh and squeezed her uncle’s hand. How was she to tell him that his only child was dead? 

It was later that day that the Prince was buried. Many of the citizens of Rohan attended the funeral, but Harrison chose to remain behind. He did not have any experience with funerals, and considering his lack of tact he had decided it would be a safer experience to remain away. The only person he had known to have died was Boromir, and he had stayed silent as Boromir drifted passed him on the river (name). He was not required to speak or to listen to someone else speak, but he knew that it hadn’t been a proper funeral. There would probably be a service held in Gondor whenever Denethor found out. 

Harrison watched as Gandalf led King Theoden out to the side of the mountains where the burial was to take place. A hand fell on his shoulder, and he jumped, spinning around to face the person touching him. Legolas gave him a small smile, his hand dropping to his side. 

“I did not mean to frighten you.”

“It’s fine, I should have been paying more attention.” Harrison leant forward, pressing his lips cautiously to his mates. He didn’t think funerals were a good time to make out, but he felt almost compelled to touch the Elf; to make sure he was as alive and real as he looked. 

“Harrison!” Legolas gasped, drawing back as Harry cupped his arse. “This isn’t the place!”

“Perhaps we could take it inside, then?” His hands were fisted in the front of his mate’s tunic and he tugged Legolas closer, harder, even though the blond made no move to distance them. “Please?” Harrison looked up, wide-eyed, with his mouth parted slightly and Legolas couldn’t help himself. He bent his head, his tongue coming forward to run across Harrison’s bottom lip before he fused their mouths together. Hands tangled in hair, and Harrison began walking backwards, leading Legolas after him. They left the balcony, and entered the room Harrison had been given for their stay. Legolas’ was right beside his, but both knew he wouldn’t be going back to it tonight. 

Briefly Legolas thought that he should stop this from happening, he felt that they should take things slower, make this time special. It would be Harrison’s first time, and while Legolas had three-hundred-years worth of experience, Harrison likely had none whatsoever. The Elf wanted his mate to enjoy the experience, but rushing through things just to satisfy himself was not the way to go. He drew back, but Harrison gave the most desperate whimper he had ever heard, and immediately his resolve crumbled. They were mates. They would be together for as long as they both lived, and neither had the intention to die. They had eternity to take things slow. 

**(Contains Slash Sex)**

Harrison gasped as he suddenly found himself thrown back onto the bed. He looked up with wide eyes as Legolas unbuckled his own belt. Green eyes sparkled as he watched his mate strip for his pleasure. He licked his lips as Legolas pulled his tunic up over his head, before throwing it behind him haphazardly. The Elf grinned widely as Harrison’s breathing picked up. The boy was panting by the time Legolas shimmied out of his leggings and toed off his shoes. 

“Please, please, please,” Harrison breathed as Legolas climbed onto the bed and began to crawl up to him. The elder male hovered over him, bracing him weight on his arms and he looked down at his mate, completely naked and aching hard. 

“What do you want, my pretty one? What would you have me do?” He purred, his head dipping to press soft kisses across Harry’s cheeks and chin. His lips felt like the brush of butterfly wings, and rather than satisfy the human it teased him, daring him to ask for more. 

“Touch me, take me,” the brunette begged, arching his back and pressing his lips against Legolas’. When he pulled back, he said, “too much clothes. Get them off.”

“As my mate wishes.” 

His fingers began opening the buttons at the top of Harry’s tunic. Legolas pulled the boy to sit up, and he ran his hands along Harrison’s sides and stomach as he pushed the garment up over his head. It landed on the floor beside the pile of Legolas’ clothing, as the Elf began pulling down the trousers Harrison wore. “Lift your hips,” the Elf whispered as he pushed Harrison to lie back down. 

Harrison raised his hips, allowing Legolas to remove his trousers and shoes, and the blond smiled warmly as he crawled back up to lie on top of his equally naked mate. 

“I don’t know what to do.” Harrison whispered. 

“I will take care of you,” the Elf said, as he nuzzled against the base of Harry’s throat. He nipped and licked at the column of flesh, moaning lightly as Harry gasped and arched into him at every touch. “You taste like honey and cinnamon.”

“Is that a good thing?” Harrison breathed as he ran his hands along Legolas’ taunt back. 

“You are divine, my mate.” He began kissing his way down Harrison’s body, taking great delight in the noises he pulled from his mate’s throat. Harrison’s hands tangled in Legolas’ hair as his tongue dipped into the boy’s belly button. He nipped at the junction where Harrison’s hip met his thigh and the boy gave a delicious groan as Legolas’ hair brushed against his throbbing erection. The Elf purposely ignored that particular piece of his mate’s anatomy, instead moving to kiss his inner thighs. He licked at the back of Harrison’s knees and sucked on his toes and ankles and all the while Harrison writhed beneath him, moaning wantonly. 

Legolas looked up at his mate, his mouth hovering over the aching hardness Harry was sporting and he felt very proud of himself. Harrison had stopped begging sometime ago, having completely lost the ability to speak. His fingers were tangled in the sheets, his head thrown back with his hair haloed out around him, and his mouth was parted slightly, his pink tongue flicking out every once in a while to moisten his lips and his eyes were squeezed closed. 

His eyes flew open as his cock was surrounded by a warm wetness that made his toes curl up. He looked down at Legolas, who had taken him completely into his mouth and was suckling lightly. Legolas chuckled at the picture his mate made, and Harrison let out a hoarse cry as the vibrations rocketed through him. His hands tangled into Legolas’ hair and he arched his hips up, pushing himself further into the blond’s willing mouth. 

Legolas drew back, his fingers pushing past his lips and he watched Harry watching him as his tongue swirled around his fingers. “Touch, touch me,” Harrison panted. 

“In a moment, my love.” When his fingers were wet enough he lowered his mouth to Harry’s erection again. He blew on it, smirking as the boy let out a strangled groan. His fingers brushed across Harrison’s perineum, his nails scrapping lightly and making the boy pant harder. As his mouth engulf the hard length again, his middle finger pushed passed the tight ring of muscle protecting Harrison’s opening. The boy gave a groan, his eyes fluttering closed as the pressure built up within him. 

A second finger joined the first, and Harrison gave a gasp of pain this time. It didn’t last long, because Legolas swallowed around his mate’s cock and Harry let out a pleased cry, not even noticing as a third finger entered his body. Legolas removed his fingers, and pulled back. He pressed a light kiss to the tip of Harry’s erection and ignored the disappointed groan his mate gave. 

“Spread your legs more,” the blond ordered as he moved up to lie between them. Harrison’s legs moved automatically to lock around the Elf’s waist, and Legolas propped the boy’s entrance once more before lining his own erection up. “I love you,” he told Harrison for the first time. 

Harrison opened his mouth to speak, but his words were cut off by the whimpering noise he made instead. Legolas pushed into him slowly, his hands clenching at the bed sheets on either side of Harrison’s head as he fought to control himself. He wanted nothing more than to be within his mate right then, but he did not want to hurt Harry. 

“Shush, little one. It will pass.” He pressed a soft kiss to Harrison’s lips, and then a second one, until at last Harrison relaxed and raised his head to kiss the Elf back. 

Legolas pressed his face to Harry’s neck, panting harshly when he was finally buried within his mate to the hilt. He paused, resting his weight on top of the boy as he allowed Harrison to grow accustomed to the feeling of being so completely filled. With a quick kiss to his mate’s neck Legolas pulled back, drawing himself out of Harrison’s heat before thrusting back inside. Harry gave a groan, throwing his head back as Legolas repeated the action. They both panted heavily, clinging to each other as they moved, Legolas thrusting on top of Harrison, and Harry arching his hips to meet his mate’s thrusts. 

“I love you,” Harrison breathed as he felt the liquid heat coiling and pooling in his stomach. His hand wrapped around his erection, stroking it until he came. His orgasm rushed over him, his nerves felt as if they were on fire and his entire being was over sensitised. He let out a long, drawn out cry before he crushed his lips to Legolas’. His body trembled as he came down from his high, breathing loudly as his mate continued to rock on top of him. 

Legolas moaned, breathing out endearments against Harrison’s neck that he couldn’t hear, as he moved within his mate’s body for a while longer. When he could no longer hold off his release, he allowed himself to collapse on top of Harry, clinging tight to him, crushing their bodies together as his hips jerked spasmodically as he came. “I love you,” the Elf repeated, as he rolled to the side. 

**(Slash Sex Finished)**

Harry rolled after him, curling up on Legolas’ chest as the Elf wrapped his arms around Harrison’s waist and shoulders. “My mate,” Harrison breathed. 

“As you are mine,” Legolas whispered in reply. He smiled softly to himself as he watched Harrison drift off to sleep. When the teenager was sleeping soundly, he pulled the sheet over them as well as he could and fell into a light doze. His eyes remained open the entire time, like all Elves’ eyes do, but his mind was resting. His grip on his mate never loosened, and when they woke they were both in the same position they had fallen asleep in. 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Helm’s Deep. June 1998. 

Harrison sat surrounded by children. His eyes were closed and he let his head fall back to thump off of the wall. Some of the women looked at him sadly, wide eyed with tears coursing down their cheeks. Harrison paid them no mind, but he didn’t protest when a child climbed into his lap and gave him a short hug. 

The journey from Meduseld to Helm’s Deep had not been a pleasant one. Saruman had sent out his Warg-riders, and a small army of Orcs to attack the travelling humans. Wargs looked like Hyenas from Earth, but they were almost four times the size, and three times as vicious. The Orcs that rode on their backs were as cruel and merciless as the Orcs who walked beside them. The worst part of the battle however was the moment where Harrison failed at what he had sworn himself to do. 

He had watched as Aragorn, whose wrist had gotten caught on the reigns of one of the Wargs, was pulled off the edge of the cliff. He had screamed, and at the time he hadn’t realized the noise had come from his throat. Legolas had caught him before he could jump after the man. Harrison had been sure his magic would have protected them both, if only he had been able to catch Aragorn, but Legolas could not have known that and so the Elf had done what he could to stop Harrison jumping off of the cliff. 

The others had known Aragorn for almost five months, while Harrison had only known him for three, but the loss was just as great. When they arrived at Helm’s Deep Harrison had immediately locked himself away, wanting to be alone. He had ended up hiding away with the women and very young children. He would miss Aragorn, there was no doubt about that, but it wasn’t the worst thing about his death. When Legolas had tried to ask him Harrison had been unwilling to explain. He didn’t want to sound callous, but with Aragorn’s death, Arwen would fade and Harrison would no longer be allowed to gain her immortality. She would die and Elf, and Harrison would age and die as a human. He had promised to keep Frodo and Aragorn alive and he had failed. Aragorn was dead and who knew where Frodo was! 

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, forcing back the tears that threatened to slip passed. His head hurt and his heart ached but he would not give in and cry. To cry was to show weakness and he did not feel safe enough here, with so many people, to allow himself to be weak. 

_Sauron will use his puppet Saruman to destroy the people of Rohan._ He heard a voice say. It sounded suspiciously like Gandalf, but the wizard was not in the room. Harrison frowned harder. He had never questioned why it was he could hear and see Sauron and Saruman before, but now he could hear Gandalf as well? _Isengard has been unleashed. Sauron now turns his eye to Gondor._ That didn’t sound like a good thing, Harrison thought as he pushed himself to his feet. He should probably tell someone, he decided. 

They watched as Harrison left them, no one moved to stop him or ask him to stay. Harrison didn’t look at them as he passed; instead he kept his eyes focused directly in front of him, even as he walked through the corridors to the meeting room. His eyes widened as they fell on someone who could not possibly be there. 

“How?” He breathed. His hand moved forward, hesitantly travelling across the man’s face, tracing the cheekbones and his lips as the man smiled back at him. 

“Hello to you as well, master Elf,” Aragorn chuckled, drawing the stunned boy against him in a hug. Harrison clung to him, unable to believe it.

“By Valar!” He whispered, “You’re alive!” 

“So it appears. Did you miss me, little one?”

Harrison scowled. “No! And I’m not little!” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared around the room as some of the others chuckled lightly. 

They spoke amongst themselves, and most of them ignored Harrison all together, seeing him as a child and of no importance to the war. “You should hide all of the women and children,” Harrison said suddenly, interrupting the King. 

King Theoden looked towards him and smiled warmly. No one had really been watching Harrison as they fought the Wargs so they didn’t really understand what he was capable of. It was understandable that they were underestimating him. “This is no place for children, young man. Perhaps you should go wait with the women and children while we discuss what to do.”

“I have a suggestion for you?” He looked at Legolas briefly. The Elf made no move to stop him, instead he had a curious look on his face that prompted Harrison to finish speaking. “How about you take your head out of your arse and listen to what I said?”

“How dare you!” A man hissed, moving swiftly to point his sword at Harrison’s throat. 

“Gamling, no!” Theoden said. He frowned at Harrison, even as the other man backed away. “Do you speak to everyone who is above you in such a manner?”

“Lord Denethor said I should respect people who are better than me.”

“So you should my boy. That includes your King.” Gandalf said firmly, though there was a smile playing around his lips. 

“You are not better than me. And you are certainly not my King. I am an Elf, and my Queen lives in Lothlorien.” He frowned, eyes narrowing. “You were the one who was too weak to stand up to Grima Wormtongue and Saruman. You were the one who was too weak to lead your people and protect them. You are not better than me.” 

Harrison turned away from the stunned King and looked to Aragorn. The brunette nodded his head lightly. 

“Sauron is planning to attack Gondor soon. Isengard’s army is headed towards Rohan. They’ll soon know we are here and arrive. We need to keep the women and children safe.” Harrison told the ranger, and Aragorn gave a nod of his head and turned to the King. 

“Is there anywhere we can send them?” 

“Yes,” Theoden said slowly, his eyes narrowing in Harrison’s direction as the boy walked from the room. “How does he know what the enemy is planning?”

“He is a complex person, my King,” Gandalf said with a smile. “Perhaps we should make safe the women and children and then discuss how we should win this fight.” 

“Send the women and the young children into the caves. Gamling, I want all males able to fight sent to Faldor to be equipped and armoured up.” The man bowed to his King and ran from the room to follow out his orders. “Gandalf, that boy? How will he fare in a fight?”

“I believe Harrison can handle himself very well.” 

“No!” Legolas said immediately. “He is to go with the children. I will not have him fighting.”

“You know he will not listen,” Aragorn said even as Gimli chuckled at the thought. 

“But he will if he is forced.” The Elf argued looking to the King to be the one to force Harrison to stay safe. 

It was several days later that Harry found himself being frogmarched into the caves behind a large group of ‘helpless’ people. He turned as he was released, about to run to the doors but they slammed in his face and the two guards who had dragged him there remained. They stood on the inside of the doors, spears pointed towards Harrison as he came towards them and they smirked. “Go sit down, kid. You aren’t going anywhere.”

“Fuck you,” he spat back before throwing himself to the ground beside a crying eight-year-old. 

Outside, the others prepared for the battle that was coming. Children above the age of fourteen were forced to wield swords that they could barely lift and wear armour that hung off of them, dangerously too large. Aragorn watched them sadly. “These are not soldiers.”

Gimli nodded in agreement. “Most of these have seem too many winters.” They looked around at the clusters of old men, half blind or who could barely walk anymore, and it seemed as if the lightest wind would blow them over. 

”Or too few,” Legolas watched a particularly small child struggle to swing his sword. He could only be grateful that Harrison was not there. He didn’t think he could bear to watch his mate be injured or die. 

“When did Gandalf say he would return?”

“Two more days to go.” Aragorn sighed. The three days that had passed had been hard on everyone, and there was no doubt that Harrison would be very angry when he was finally released.

“What is that?” They heard someone yell. “Who are they?” followed the first yell and then there were shouts of, “get the King!” The trio left the room they were in and walked into the hold just as the drawbridge was going up. 

Cloaked figures walked into the courtyard and people began whispering and gasping as their leader pulled down his hood. The Elf gave a small bow towards King Theoden and allowed the human to reach out to shake his hand. “What are you doing here?” 

“Once there was an allegiance between the races of Men and Elves. We have come to honour that allegiance.” Haldir told them. He ignored the people who were staring at him and his companions. The blond Elf smiled warmly at Aragorn and Legolas as he drew his fellow Elf into a brief hug. He nodded at Gimli before looking around with a frown. 

“Where is Prince Harrison?” Haldir asked in a soft voice like bells. 

“He is safe.” Legolas answered him, raising his chin in defiance. So far he was the only one that believe he had the right to keep his mate safe. His own mate, and everyone else dared tell him how to treat Harrison.

“Oh,” Haldir chuckled, “he isn’t going to like that.”

_XXX_

It was maddening. 

He could hear the sounds of fighting, the screams and cries as people were wounded or killed and he could make out the squealing the Orcs made as they died as well. But he didn’t know who was winning, or who was hurt or dying, and he didn’t know who was safe. Not knowing was driving Harrison insane and he did not like anything as little as he did at this moment. 

He pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block out the sounds. As muffled as the noise was by the stone walls it was still loud enough to have the cave’s occupants jumping and gasping with fright every other moment. The two guards who had brought him there had snuck out while he slept, and he had been left alone, barricaded into a room with women and crying babies. 

He wanted to be out there! He deserved to be out there, fighting and protecting those he loved. He had to keep Aragorn alive, because the Valar knows the man wasn’t very good at not dying. And he had to keep an eye on Legolas. He knew, as with most Elves, that Legolas was not entirely conscious of the fact that despite being immortal he could die. Harrison did not want him to die. 

He had thought about using magic to force his way out of the caves, but he was worried that the ceiling might collapse. He wanted to fight, but he did not want to risk the lives of the others in the cave. He would not be able to live with himself if his foolishness resulted in the deaths of so many innocent people. 

An explosion rocked the ground, and Harrison found himself thrown onto his back. Some of the others screamed, falling over as well. They clung to one another and they all looked around fearfully. Some even looked to him, as if he could save them all while being locked away right beside them. His ears were ringing slightly, his hearing more sensitive than the humans’ hearing, and he could feel the pulse of evil as whatever had set off the explosion began to enter the fortress of Helm’s Deep. 

There was this feeling rising up within him, but he couldn’t place it. He could feel it coiling within his stomach and clenching at his heart and he knew it was more than just anxiety for his friends. He could not give it a name that would amply describe it though. He thought that someone he cared for deeply might be in danger, and he was afraid that it could be Legolas, but there was no way he could check. He didn’t know how it was he could even begin to assume someone was in danger – everyone was in danger! How was he sure this feeling was real? 

His arm hurt suddenly, and he squeezed his eyes closed. It felt like someone was squeezing him around the middle, trying to force him into a space that was not wide enough to hold him. 

He cried out, opening his eyes in time to see a knife come towards his chest. He raised his arms, giving a shocked cry as he forced his magic forward. The knife froze in mid-air, and the Orc wielding it looked absolutely stunned to find that he could not move that arm no matter how much he tried. Behind Harrison, Haldir turned around, clutching his bleeding arm. His eyes widened as he spotted the knife that would have hit him in the back and he gave Harrison a sloppy one-armed hug. 

“I knew there was a reason we kept you around,” he joked. Harrison’s hand was on his arm, pressing down hard as he focused on what Haldir’s arm looked like without the blood. The cut healed itself, faster than even an Elf’s healing powers could manage and Haldir gifted his friend with a rare smile.

“There, all better,” Harrison whispered. He spun around, grabbing an arrow from Haldir’s belt and pointed it at the person running towards them. He lowered his arm as he recognized Aragorn. 

”What are you doing here? How did you-? You just appeared!” The human breathed. 

The other two smiled slightly, and Harrison offered a shrug. “I’m needed here.” 

They lost sight of each other in the battle, each attacking their foes and defending themselves and the others that fought for their side. Harrison could hear pounding coming from the gates, and he easily guessed that the Orcs were trying to ram the drawbridge. He leant over the nearest wall, and waved his hand at the Orcs on the causeway. Five of them fell. Aragorn and Gimli suddenly appeared right in front of the gates, and with Harrison’s second attack the Orcs actually dropped the battering ram, unable to hold its weight with so many of their fellows dead. 

A harpoon suddenly came sailing through the air. Harrison threw himself to the side, colliding painfully with Legolas who had run to save him. The harpoon anchored itself to the wall where Harry had been standing and the teenager pressed a quick kiss to his mate’s mouth, stopping the questions Legolas longed to ask. The blond cut the rope attached to the grappling hook, and they both watched in satisfaction as the ladder attached fell backwards, crushing a number of their enemies. 

“Aim for the cannons!” Someone yelled, “kill the Orcs with the guns!” Another grappling hook flew over the wall, and knocked the man who had yelled aside. He slumped to the ground, his neck bent at a fatal angle as the Orcs began to climb up that ladder. 

“Ready?” Harrison asked lightly. 

“I’m always ready,” he teased. 

“Was that an innuendo? Now?” Harrison chuckled. He had no sword, since the King had taken Faramir’s off of him when he had been sent to the caves, but he had the knife he managed to steal off the Orc who almost stabbed him. He also had one of Haldir’s arrows. A quick spell later and the arrow was floating around by itself, stabbing Orcs left and right and always coming back to Harrison. 

Legolas fired an arrow into the head of an Orc who was trying to sneak up on Harry. “Do you want it to be an innuendo?”

“Maybe,” the teenager said with a grin. He ducked beneath a swipe of another’s blade and raised the knife up, stabbing the Orc in his unprotected groin. The sword dropped and Harrison scooped it up greedily. 

“You’ll soon have a fine collection of weapons, master Elf,” Gimli grumbled appearing from behind him. 

“I’m sure I’ll be willing to share with a friend.” They shared a smile before losing themselves in the battle again. 

“Nineteen!”

“Twenty-three!”

“Cheat! Twenty-one!” Legolas and Gimli hollered back and forth, no matter how far away from each other they were they still called out the number of Orcs that had managed to kill. 

Harry smiled at their antics, before turning his attention to Aragorn. The gates had broken open a few moments before Gimli appeared and Aragorn was busy herding everyone inside the keep, and away from the courtyard. A messenger had been sent to lead the women and children out of the caves and through the mountains. Hopefully the soldiers would be able to fight long enough to keep the Orcs distracted while the women fled to Gondor. 

A horn began to blow, loudly and it echoed across the plains. The Orcs and men alike looked towards the humungous twin-horns carved into the side of the mountain beside Helm’s Deep. 

“The horn of Helm Hammerhand,” a voice told him and he turned to find King Theoden standing there. “Come, we should join the others in the keep.” He led the teenager forward, propelling the boy almost forcefully forward. Harrison’s attention was not on where he was going, but rather what was coming. 

He watched the sun rise. It was the fifth day since Gandalf had left them to find help and as the sun rose he noticed the light coming towards them, faster and brighter than the sun. With a gasp, he wrenched himself away from the King and leant as far over the battlement wall as he could. “It’s Gandalf!”

“The Riders of Rohan!” Someone else screamed, and a cheer rang out through the keep. 

In the lead was Gandalf, sitting astride Shadowfax with his staff raised high. The staff was shining, glowing brightly again, and the Orcs had to cover their eyes or go blind. Behind the wizard came the 2,000 banished soldiers of Rohan, more than willing to come home and fight. Soldiers began to run out of Helm’s Deep, swords raised as they fought valiantly. The riders killed Orcs as they passed, and between both sets of fighters the battle was soon over. 

Harrison and the other members of the Fellowship came out to meet Gandalf. “Escaped did you?” The wizard asked. 

He had not been there when they had locked Harrison up for safekeeping, and the boy was trying to figure out how he knew. Suddenly his eyes widened. “You!” He hissed at Legolas. “You asked them all!”

“I had to keep you safe.”

“You- You- You are never allowed to touch me again!” The boy stuttered, looking extremely angry. 

Haldir came up behind them and offered Gandalf a small bow. Eómer and some of his men had joined their group, and his sister Eowyn was there as well. While she watched Aragorn closely, her eyes softening as she looked him over, her brother watched the delicate looking human. Eómer watched them curiously as Haldir turned to the beautiful human and spoke something in Elvish. ( _‘Did you finally bond with your mate, Princeling? And was he good to you?’_ ) 

Aragorn and Legolas both tried to smother chuckles while Harrison’s face turned a bright red colour. 

“Could we not talk about that in front of others who understand us?” Harrison hissed. He steadfastly avoided his mate’s gaze, as well as Haldir’s. 

Haldir frowned, but Harrison could tell he was amused and doing this on purpose. ( _‘But, Harrison, I need to know if he took care of you. You deserve only the best he can offer you: comfort, safety, happiness, pleasure, lots of orgas-’_.) Harrison’s hand clamped down over the Elf’s mouth, cutting him off. 

“That is enough, thank you,” the embarrassed boy muttered. 

Harrison tried to ignore the light laughter coming from Aragorn and Legolas, but his cheeks remained red. Eómer found himself very confused, and slightly jealous, as Legolas drew the teenager against his side and kissed him. Despite Harrison’s earlier words of not allowing Legolas to touch him, he did not pull away from the kiss. Instead, he pulled his mate closer. His arms wrapped around Legolas’ shoulders, one hand cupping the back of his mate’s head as he drew him close. Legolas’ hand went to Harrison’s waist, pulling his mate’s hips against his own. Their mouths fused together, their tongues duelled with one another’s, and they held each other tightly, caressing each other’s bodies as they assured themselves that their mate was alive and whole and uninjured. 

While most of the people and Elves cheered for their victory, the small group of Harrison’s friends cheered as he and his mate shared a kiss. Legolas chuckled lightly, holding tight to his lover, and he kissed him deeper. The cheering grew louder as families and friends were reunited, and the two soul mates were lost in one another, oblivious to the happiness and grief that surrounded Helm’s Deep. 

Gandalf watched them with a small smile on his face. He did not interrupt them. In the end, it was him who led the others away, giving the two their privacy. They deserved to be happy while they could. 

_Sauron’s wrath will be terrible and it will be swift._ Harrison vaguely heard the wizard say. _The battle for Helm’s Deep is over. The battle for Middle-Earth is about to begin. All our hope now rests with two little Hobbits_ … 

**XXX**

1 – "Oh my friends, my friends forgive me that I live and you are gone." - Les  
Miserables – (Empty chairs at empty tables)

* * *

Also, in answer to a question that I got at AFF: Harry is slightly more sociable than a normal person who has been kept in isolation. It probably wasn’t clear enough, but he can see Death Eater meetings, as well as meetings between Sauron and any of his followers (his curse scar cannot differentiate one Dark Lord from another), so he has been studying how different people act in different situations. 

Also, the Elves have been working him like a slave for a year to teach him how to fight and run and hunt as well as learning things like their history and politics and etiquette. As the mate of an Elf, Lady Galadriel deems it necessary that Harrison knows these things. 

Lastly, yes, the Horcrux is still there, and in his darker moments Harrison can feel it inside of him. It influences him at times, especially during fights, but he won’t let himself depend on it too much (just the knowledge Tom possesses). 

This was meant to be a one-shot, so it wasn’t meant to be detailed and well thought out. There will be holes. The main focus is NOT, is Harry super? But whether or not Harry will fancy Legolas. 

Thank you to those who read and plan to review.


	3. Chapter 3

Italics – Elvish.   
Bold – Parseltongue.   
Paragraphs in Italics, – taken from the films. You’ll recognize them. 

* * * 

UNBETA’D

*

**Words:** 10,621  
 **Chapter 3/3**  
 **Sparkle III**  
Middle-Earth, Fangorn Forest. July 1998. 

They rode through Fangorn Forest, towards Isengard. Legolas and Aragorn kept hold of the reigns, with Harrison and Gimli sat, respectively, behind each. Gandalf rode alongside them, unburdened by a passenger. The broke through the line of trees, and stopped. Gandalf looked around, creases lining his face as he frowned heavily. What once was a part of a thick forest was now a flooded, barren circle of land. He looked up to the Two Towers, and a face peered back down at him through a window. He cursed Saruman for destroying the trees, for razing the forest, to create his weapons of war. 

Gimli suddenly shouted, jumping down from the back of Aragorn’s horse. “There you two are! Led us on a merry chase, you did.” 

“Hobbits!” Gandalf muttered as his attention turned back to the Fellowship. 

Merry and Pippin grinned down at their friends. They were sitting on top of what once was a catapult, each smoking a pipe stuffed with Longbottom Leaf, and taking long drinks of ale from a flagon each. “We,” Merry said, “are sitting in a field of victory, enjoying a few well earned comforts.” 

Pippin hopped down. Followed by Merry. “We’re under orders, to keep watch, from Treebeard. He’s taken over the running of Isengard.”

Gandalf shook his head, reaching down to grab hold of Merry, and hoisting the Hobbit onto the back of Shadowfax. He looked at Pippin, then back up at the Fellowship, and frowned. “Where to sit you, master Hobbit?” 

“He may ride with Harrison,” Legolas said softly, smiling as he dismounted his horse. “I will run along side them.” Pippin stepped towards them, and then stopped. Eyes wide the Hobbit starred down at the flooded ground. There was a light, shinning through the muddy water, and it called to him, stretched out a slimy hand and grabbed hold of his heart. Reach out to me, it told him, and Pippin leant down as he was told and plucked the Palantir from the water. He stared at it. It was round and glossy, pitch black except for one red sphere in the centre that blinked like Sauron’s eye. 

“I will take that, Pippin,” Gandalf said sternly, reaching out. “Now.” Unwillingly, Pippin handed it over. As Gandalf wrapped it up within his cloak, out of site, a part of Pippin silently cried out for one more look. 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Helm’s Deep. July 1998.

Harrison watched as King Theoden gave a speech, but he didn’t listen. His mind was on other things. Aragorn was alive: he had not died, and Harrison had not failed. There was still a chance that Arwen would live long enough to marry the Ranger, and Harrison would be gifted with her immortality. The Valor had promised, but only if Arwen lived long enough. For Arwen to live so must Aragorn. Harrison took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering closed in relief as he heard Aragorn’s laugh echo across the room. He was alive. There was still a chance. 

A hand fell on his shoulder, the fingers squeezed softly. Harry opened his eyes, smiling as he turned his head to look upon his mate. Legolas. For who Harrison did _all of this_. Without Legolas there was no need for immortality, there would be no need to protect Aragorn’s life, and Arwen’s (except that she was Lady Galadriel’s granddaughter). Without Legolas, Harry’s smile faded, it would be very likely that the Elves of Lothlorien would have never taken him in. They had known all along that he was to be the mate of an Elf, and they had treated him as if he were an Elf himself. If not for Legolas, there would be nothing to fight for. His whole life revolved around the blond now, and Harrison smiled at the thought.

“Why do you grin so?” Legolas asked. 

Harrison nodded towards a table a little away from them. Merry and Pippin were dancing on top of it, singing. “They amuse me.”

“They amuse us all, master Elf.” Gimli huffed as he took a seat beside them. 

_“You can search far and wide, you can drink the whole town dry, but you’ll never find a beer so brown as the one we drink in our home town!”_ The two Hobbits sang together, waving their flagons of beer and linking arms as they began to kick their legs in the air. _“You can keep your fancy ales, you can drink ’em by the flagon, but the only brew for the brave and true comes from the Green Dragon!”_ They knocked their beers together, and downed them both. Merry screamed, “I win!” as they both got down off of the table. 

Harrison laughed softly, turning in his seat to press a soft kiss to Legolas’ mouth. “They really amuse me.”

Everyone continued to drink, bar the resident Elves, and Merry and Pippin sang numerous more songs before it was time for bed. As everyone slept, Legolas left his mate sleeping and joined Aragorn on the balcony. “What are you doing?” He asked. 

“Watching the stars.” Aragorn told him. 

The blond frowned. “What do they tell you?” 

“Nothing I do not already know, my friend.” 

Legolas opened his mouth to answer, but a cry drifted towards them out of the bedroom. The Fellowship had chosen to sleep together, each curled up on a cot or in a sleeping bag on the floor. They had given Gandalf the one bed. Aragorn rushed back inside, slowly as he saw Gandalf rip the Palantir from Pippin’s hands. Harrison sat up off the floor, watching the Hobbit scream and writhe with no expression on his face. Legolas dropped to the floor beside him, reaching out to comfort the human. 

“What did you see?” Gandalf asked, shaking the Hobbit. Pippin’s eyes fluttered. He wheezed, still shaking as Gandalf’s grip tightened on him. 

“I saw,” he began, before he shuddered. “I saw a white tree, in a courtyard of stone. It was dead. And the city was burning.” 

“Minas Tirith,” Harrison muttered, green eyes widening as they looked towards Aragorn, who had gone ashen. 

“What else, what else?” Gandalf asked impatiently. 

“Sauron. He hurt me. He asked me questions.” Pippin’s hands shook as they reached out to Merry. His fellow Hobbit took hold of them, squeezing them lightly and giving his friend courage. 

“What did you tell him of Frodo and the Ring?” 

“Nothing.” Gandalf, and the others, all breathed loud sighs of relief. 

A short time later, they met in the atrium leading to the King’s chambers. There was a table with a map spread out across it, and a handful of wooden chairs, and banners hung on the walls but not much else. The Fellowship stood around, looking between the King and his niece and nephew. Harrison stood at the table, his fingers tracing over the words ‘Mirkwood Forest’ with a small smile on his lips. Legolas stood behind him, a hand covering Harry’s free hand. 

“When this is over, I’ll take you there.” The blond elf promised. 

“He is a fool,” Gandalf exclaimed, and all those listening turned their eyes to Pippin, “but an honest fool he remains.” The old Wizard walked slowly towards Aragorn, and whispered, “He cannot stay here.” 

“I will take him. I will warn Gondor.” Harrison’s head snapped up at the name of his old home, his eyes shuttered as Aragorn moved forward. 

“No. You must travel to Gondor by a different path. Aragorn you must go by the River and look to the black ships. I will warn Lord Denethor.” Gandalf turned to Harrison and held a hand out. The human shook his head softly, taking a step away from the Wizard and bringing his back flush to Legolas’ chest. The elf tightened his hold on his mate’s waist and waited. “You will not come?”

“I will come when I am needed, Mithrandir.” 

“Very well. I will see you in Gondor, my boy. Come Pippin.” Merry watched them go from the top of a watchtower. He all but shoved the soldier out of the way so he could peak through the wood and nails and wave goodbye to his friend. Gandalf rode out on Shadowfax, staff in one hand and the other on the reigns. Pippin sat in front of him, eyes closed tight as the Mearas took them away from Helm’s Deep. 

The Elves rode out after them. Harrison watched them go, waving goodbye to his friends. Haldir turned his head, and caught Harry’s eyes. With a smile the elf rode away. The human leant back against Legolas, taking comfort from his mate, as Aragorn comforted Merry. 

“They will be well.”

_“The Valar goes with them.”_ Harrison answered in Elvish. 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Rivendell. August 1998. 

It was the end of the Third Age of Middle Earth. The time of Men was over, and it was time for the Elves to move on. As the evil spread from Mordor, the Elves grew weaker. They were creatures of the light, and they faded in the shadow of Sauron. It was time for them to sail to the Undying Lands. Ships awaited them at the Grey Havens, waiting to bring them to Valinor. Arwen was sullen upon her horse. It carried her slowly, in time with the rest of her party, many of who were happy to escape the second war. She cried though, fat pale drops that tasted bitter as they brushed against her lips. 

She did not want to leave. 

She could not bear to leave Aragorn. A part of her knew that her father was right; there was nothing here for her now. But she couldn’t help but regret being there, away from the home she had known all of her life. Why, why was she running away, and leaving her lover out there alone? He was not dead, she could feel it, but if she left he may as well be. 

She blinked back more tears, turning her head to stare out into the forest. Elves surrounded her on all sides, but it was almost like she could see straight through them. She saw Aragorn. He looked older though, and as she studied him she realized that he wasn’t real. She held tighter to the horse’s reigns: there was no need for her to dismount. Aragorn was not really there. 

A child ran through the forest. His chin length brown hair, wavy like Aragorn’s, flared out behind him as he ran. Arwen’s heart thumped painfully as Aragorn reached down for the boy, before swinging him around in the air. The child looked straight at her, though Aragorn did not seem to know she was looking. Around the boy’s neck hung the Evenstar. The same one she had given Aragorn. 

She pulled hard on the reigns, and the horse stopped. A friend of her father stopped before her, reaching out to her. “My Lady, we cannot delay.” She looked at him, and then turned to the empty patch of forest where her vision had been moments ago. Arwen turned the horse, and galloped back home. 

“Why are you here, Arwen?” Lord Elrond asked angrily as she appeared in the threshold. He reached for her hands, but she drew back. 

“You knew. You saw.” 

“I looked into your future and I saw nothing but death.” He told her sadly, reaching out for her again. 

She let him hold her hands, smiling softly at her father. “But there is also life. You saw my son.”

“That future is almost lost.”

“Nothing is certain, Ada.” _(father)_ “If I leave now, I will regret it forever.” Elrond looked her over. She was pale, but her cheeks had a healthy flush and her eyes were bright. She looked happier than she had since the Fellowship first set out from Rivendell. 

“What would you have me do, daughter?” 

“Re-forge the sword of Elendil.” He nodded. As Arwen gathered the pieces of the sword that had once slain Sauron she spoke softly to herself, a rhyme that she had heard in her dreams over and over, just waiting to turn from premonition to reality. _“From the ashes a fire shall be woken. A light from the shadow shall spring. Renewed shall be blade that was broken. The crownless again shall be King.”_

Once she had given over the pieces of the sword, her father led her to a bed. She tried to rest, but in her sleep she kept tossing and turning and eventually she gave up. She rose, and walked to join her father outside on the veranda. They stood together, in the night, as two Elves worked below them to fix the damaged sword. Hand in hand they waited. “Your hands are cold,” Lord Elrond said after sometime. “The light of the Eldar is leaving you.”

“By your will or not, there is no ship now that can bare me hence.” She smiled sadly at him, and reached under her collar. She withdrew a small pendant, the size of a locket, which was a dull silver colour. It hung limply on the silver chain. Engraved on the front of the pendant was an intricate letter ‘H’. “I have chosen a mortal life, Ada. As I slept the Valar spoke to me. They have promised Grandmother my immortality for her child.”

“Child? I have a sibling?” Lord Elrond’s brow furrowed in confusion. No one had told him of the birth of an Elf. Legolas was the last Elfling born, and that was three-hundred-years ago. 

“He is a human, the child mistaken for Isildur’s Heir. They tell me he is the mate of Legolas of Mirkwood. I see not why two elves should die as mortals, when instead one mortal can live as elf.” She smiled softly, her hand dropping the pendant and coming to caress her father’s face. “When it begins to glow, I will be mortal. My immortality will become his.”

“And if it does not glow at all?”

“Then either I, or Aragorn, have died too soon.” She stayed silent after that. The wind blew around her, her hair fanning her face, and Arwen closed her eyes and listened with her heart for any news of her lover. The trees were silent. 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Helm’s Deep. August 1998.

**(Slash Scene Starts)**

They moved together in the dark, panting softly as flesh slapped against flesh. Lips met in sloppy kisses, tongue darted out, tasting, teasing. Harrison groaned, his nails digging into Legolas’ back, racking across the pale flesh as the elf sucked on Harrison’s throat. 

The blond pinned Harry’s hands to the floor. Legolas moved back, just enough so that he could see his mate’s face. He smirked down at Harry. “Stop fighting me. You know I will win.”

“Is that so?” Harrison panted, arguing, even as he raised his head up for a kiss. Legolas captured his lips. They moved together. Their kisses were not loving or gentle, but filled with passion and lust and desperation. Soon, Gondor would call for them, and whatever King Theoden said, the Fellowship would answer. Neither mate wanted to lose the other to war so soon after the last battle, but they would fight regardless. But in the meantime, they clung desperately to one another. 

Harrison managed to free his hands, one of them tangled into Legolas’ hair and the other pressed against the floor granting some leverage. His legs locked tightly around Legolas’ waist, and he rolled. Taken by surprise, the elf found himself on his back, with him mate seated on top of him. 

Harrison moaned. The change in position forced Legolas deeper into his body, and the human threw his head back, panting, and enjoying the increased pressure. “Does this mean I win?” Harrison asked as he rolled his hips.

Legolas groaned at the feeling. “Do that again, and then you win.” Harry rolled his hips again, raising himself up slightly before he dropped back down. The movement drew identical cries from both of them. Hands gripped Harrison’s waist, helping the boy rise and fall. Legolas spread his legs, bending them and pressing his feet flat to the floor. He thrust up hard, and Harrison shrieked as his prostate was stabbed with every one of the elf’s movements. 

“I love you,” the human breathed. He lowered his head, offering his mouth to his lover. Legolas claimed his lips willingly. Their kisses grew sloppier as their release grew nearer. 

“Love you too,” Legolas panted as heat began pooling in his groin. “Feels so good.” He took one hand off of Harrison’s hip and moved it to encircle the boy’s erection. He stroked harshly, in long even pulls, and Harry cried out, arching his back and pushing himself down onto Legolas’ lap. He came with a cry, his nails scratching across the pale skin of Legolas’ chest. The Elf flipped them over, driving into his mate’s willing body three times, gripping the boy’s thighs viciously as he came. His hips stuttered as he rode through the aftershocks, and Harrison lay limply beneath him, a soft smile on his face. 

**(Slash Scene Ends)**

“Wow.” The teenager said at last. 

Legolas nuzzled softly against Harry’s neck, chuckling lightly. Before he could speak, people began shouting outside. The elf sat up, placing himself in front of his mate, and reached for his sword. The door swung inward, and naked as the day he was born Legolas had the man pinned to the wall in a second. 

Harrison placed his hand over his mate’s, and the elf let the man go. “Sorry,” the man stuttered, blushing. His eyes strayed all around the room, desperately trying to keep them off of the two naked, handsome men. “Gondor has called for aid. King Theoden declares that Rohan will answer. They await you.” He turned and ran back the way he came, not waiting for a reply. 

“Well,” Harrison chuckled softly, “we finished just in time.” The blond rolled his eyes, before closing the door. “Catch,” Harry said as he threw Legolas’ clothes at him. The elf caught them deftly and began to dress. 

They left the room in silence. It was easy to find the others. They were all gathered together in the courtyard, listening intently to the King. “Eómer, muster the Rohirrim. Gamling go south, summon as many able bodied men as you can find to Dunharrow. Grimbold bring men from Westfold. Quickly. You there, go north.” The men hurried to do as they were instructed. 

In less than an hour, three of the King’s men had already left Helm’s Deep, searching for reinforcements. His nephew, Eómer, had the Riders saddled up. All of the horses in the land were ready to be ridden, and they stood in ranks with a rider by their side. Eowyn waited beside a horse of her own, hiding a sword beneath its saddle. 

“You ride with them?” Aragorn asked her, eying the hilt of the sword. 

She pushed it further under the blanket. “Just to the encampment. It’s tradition.” 

Aragorn pursed his lips at her, but didn’t push the matter further. As they rode out, he remained beside Legolas. Harrison rode sidesaddle, in front of the blond, but he was silent. He starred down over the side of the horse, staring into the water below them as they rode through the river. The river snaked through this part of Rohan, and one moment they would be on ground and the next in the river. Whenever there was water beneath their feet, Harrison’s attention would be focused solely on it. 

“What is it you look for?” Aragorn asked him softly, not expecting an answer. 

On the back of his horse, Gimli snorted. “There are no fish in that stream, my lad, if that’s what you search for.”

Harrison just smiled at the Dwarf before going back to the images that played out before him. “What do you see, love?” Legolas asked. The worry in his tone caught Harrison’s attention, and the human looked up at him with glassy green eyes. 

“I see things that were, things that are and some things that have not yet come to pass.”1 He looked back down at the water. 

Above his head the Nazgül flew. Osgiliath was overrun. Orcs appeared from all sides, outnumbering them completely. Faramir swallowed heavily. “Retreat!” He screamed, waving his men back towards Minas Tirith. “Run!” He had fought hard: he had tried. He cried out, ducking low as the demon-creature swooped down towards him. The Men grabbed their horses, mounted and rode for their lives. Faramir was in the middle of them. He was not the first to leave, but he had not been the last either. He had just as much right to flee as the others did after all. The Nazgül did not seem to notice them leaving, and the Orcs did not chase them. The Orcs held the last defence of Gondor captive: they had no need to chase a handful of humans. Faramir thought they were safe. He could see gates of Minas Tirith ahead of him, he was almost home. 

Suddenly, he was in the air, lifted from the back of his horse by one of the Nazgül. And then, just as suddenly, he was falling. He didn’t have time to scream before he hit the ground. Dead.

Harrison’s head snapped back. He blinked slowly, pushing the images away to the back of his mind. They were not happening yet, they might never happen yet. A familiar feeling rushed through him. Just like he had known Haldir needed to be save, he knew he could save Faramir’s life as well. His skin tingled, his arms and stomach burned, and he could feel whatever magic he wielded rising up inside of him. He had to go. He needed to go, just like he needed to escape the caves of Helm’s Deep. 

“I love you,” he whispered. It was not soft enough to stop Aragorn and Gimli from hearing though, and they both turned to look at him, along with Legolas. All three looked fearful. 

“What did you see?” Legolas asked softly. 

“Who dies?” Gimli grumbled, “I bet it’s me.”

“No, my friend, it is not you.” Legolas’ arms tightened around the human, so much so that he let go of the reigns. Fortunately, horses are herd animals, and theirs continued to follow all of the others without guidance. “It is not me either, love. Be at peace. But I have to go.”

“We are going as fast as we can, master Elf.” Aragorn told him calmly, “We will be at Dunharrow soon.”

“I must go faster. I must be at Osgiliath now.” He turned to face Legolas. Calmly, he reached up to cup the blond’s face. Their lips met softly, and the elf couldn’t help but feel a ‘goodbye’ had been left unsaid when Harrison pulled back. “I will see you when you reach Gondor. _May the Valar keep you_.” 

With that, he closed his eyes. He let the feeling that was simmering inside of him bubble over, and with a ‘crack’ he was gone. Harrison felt like he was falling, or flying, he wasn’t sure which, but he could feel the wind rushing through his hair. He squeezed his legs and was shocked to feel a horse between them. He opened his eyes, and there was a man seated in front of him, steering the horse. 

“What- How-?” The man cried, reaching behind him with his sword. 

“Peace, Faramir. I am friend.” He told the man, knowing instinctively who it was. Loud screeches filled the air, and the Nazgül began to fill the sky behind them. The creatures gained on the men faster than the horses could outrun them. One Nazgül swept down towards Faramir and Harrison, but the teenager held his hand out, willing his magic to work. “Lumos!” He whispered and a bright light flashed into existence between him and the Nazgül. It screamed again, swerving out of the way, and crashing into the ground. 

Another light joined them, as Gandalf rode forward with Pippin clutched to his chest. His staff was held above his head, and the light it emitted chased away the remaining creatures. Upon seeing the White Wizard, the remaining soldier rode faster, more determined than ever to survive to see Minas Tirith again. 

As the gates closed behind them, Harrison jumped down off the horse and disappeared into the crowd before Faramir could get a look at him. The man looked around, trying to find him, but then his attention landed on Pippin. 

Breathlessly, he spoke to Gandalf. “They docked off of the River Pelennor. The Orcs have taken the bridge and the west bank. Osgiliath is overrun.” His eyes remained fixed on Pippin. 

“This is not the first halfling you have seen.” Silently, Faramir shook his head. 

“You’ve seen Frodo and Same?” Pippin cried. When Faramir nodded, the Hobbit asked, “where?”

“I saw them in Ithilien, not two days ago. But Gandalf, they have taken the road to the Morgul Vale.” He looked away, as if ashamed for having let them continue in that direction. 

“And then the pass of Cirith Ungol.” Gandalf sighed.

“Is that a bad thing?” Pippin asked. But no one answered him. Instead, Faramir followed Gandalf and the Hobbit inside the citadel so they could explain everything before Lord Denethor. Pippin was eager to learn about the fate of his friends, but Gandalf insisted that everything could be explained once, in front of everyone it concerned, and then Lord Denethor could give his opinion as well. Harrison smirked. In the crowd, he listened unnoticed, and chuckled as Gandalf spoke so uncharitably about the Steward of Gondor. 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Minas Tirith. August 1998. 

Harry spied through the doorway. He could see Pippin, on his knees before Lord Denethor speaking softly, but Harry didn’t even attempt to listen in. Gandalf stood by the Hobbits side, looking rather irritated. Behind him Faramir stood with two other soldiers, all looking battered and defeated. He knew he should just go into the room. The two guards at the doors hadn’t noticed him yet, so they were hardly going to be able to stop him from going inside. But he wasn’t sure if he was ready yet. 

Lord Denethor had raised him, imprisoned him yes, but at least he hadn’t been killed. He had been given food, clothing, a chance at life, and the Steward had never raised a hand against him. And despite Denethor’s obvious desire to, Harrison had never been molested either. All in all, he had had a relatively happy childhood. If not for the fact that Lord Denethor had tried to force him to marry Boromir, Harrison would have happily dwelt within the Citadel until Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli arrived. He would have met his mate then anyway, six months later. 

He did not owe Denethor anything, at least he didn’t think so, after all, the material things Harrison had received balanced out with the fact that he had been a _prisoner_ not a guest. It would have been fair to assume that they would be even. Then again the man was said to have grown irrational since Harrison’s escape. Boromir was dead. Harrison couldn’t be forced to marry Boromir. But Faramir was still alive. 

Harrison looked through the door again. Denethor smiled softly at Pippin and held his hand out to be kissed. He rose from his throne, and Harry took a step forward, then hesitated. 

“Fealty with love,” Denethor said, still looking at Pippin. “Valour with honour. Disloyalty with vengeance.” His eyes fixed on Faramir, and the man dipped his head in shame. “Your brother held that defence for many years. Why was it you were unable?”

“My Lord, what would you have me do?” Faramir asked submissively. Harry walked completely into the room, but the two guards barely paid him any mind. They probably thought he was another Hobbit. 

“I would not have surrendered the bridge at Pelennor.”

“My Lord! The city is overrun!” Lord Denethor hummed lightly. He looked around the room, his eyes landed on Harrison and they widened a little before the man fell silent. “Father?” 

He ignored Faramir. “You came back to me.” Denethor walked briskly to Harrison, took both of his hands before Harry could resist and brought them to his mouth to kiss. “My child, you’ve come home.” 

“You want him to go back.” It wasn’t a question. Harry turned to Faramir, who was starring at him in shock. “You can’t send him back.” 

Lord Denethor laughed lightly, “child, I am King here, I command my army. I will not lose Osgiliath.”

“The city is taken, my Lord!” Faramir cried, his face pale. His father wouldn’t really want him to go back just to die, would he?

“Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his Lord’s will?” Denethor asked cruelly, throwing a sneer in his remaining son’s direction. His nails dug into the backs of Harry’s hands, but the boy stayed silent.

“I see.” Faramir whispered. His whole appearance had shrunk, and he looked pathetically weak, ready to just fall apart at the seams. “You wish now that I had died and Boromir had lived.” Lord Denethor silently nodded his head. “Since you were robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead.” Faramir bowed low, tears in his eyes, and walked hurriedly away. The two soldiers followed him. He stopped at the door, and without looking back spoke, “if I return, father, think better of me.” 

“You can’t be serious?” Harry hissed angrily. When Lord Denethor didn’t stop the men, or call them back, Harry ripped his hands out of Denethor’s grip. “Garich i dhôl goll o Orch!” He spat. ( _You have the hollow head of an Orc_ ) He walked to Gandalf, and looked pleadingly at the man. “You have to do something. I did not save Faramir’s life just for him to die on a suicide mission.” 

“Come Pippin,” Gandalf ordered. With the Hobbit by his side, the Wizard left to try and talk sense into the soldiers. Harrison stayed where he was, waiting. 

Lord Denethor spoke first. “Why did you leave me? Was I not kind to you?” A hand fell on Harrison’s shoulder, and the boy allowed it to remain. 

“You wished for me to marry someone whom I did not love.”

The hand on his shoulder clenched. “You found Boromir wanting?”

“He was a good man, and I was honoured to know him before he died. But I did not know, nor love him, when you offered him to me. If circumstances were different I would have taken him for a husband. Brave, kind, handsome, strong; he would have been good to me.” As he spoke, Harrison kept his eyes on the wall, refusing to look at Lord Denethor, or react to the man’s movements. 

The more Harry praised Boromir the lower Denethor allowed his hand to fall. It was now resting lightly on Harrison’s waist, gently rubbing circles on the clothed skin. “What circumstances need be different, my child?” 

“I have a mate, whom I love.” Harrison whispered. The hand had been moving lower, but it stopped at the curve of his spine. The fingers twitching just above his backside. 

“Mate?” The Steward bit out. 

“Prince Legolas of Mirkwood. His is my mate, well actually I’m his mate.”

“Elf?” Harrison nodded slowly. Lord Denethor gave a growl, and tore himself away from the unresponsive boy. “Leave my sight.” He flicked his hand in the direction of the door, before he stalked to his throne and threw himself down on it. Harrison walked slowly, calmly, from the room. As he closed the door behind himself he heard Lord Denethor say, “Be gone, attraction. My own temptation.” 

Harry could feel the man’s eyes on his back. He shuddered. 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Dunharrow. August 1998. 

King Theoden sighed. He looked to Aragorn and shook his head. “Six-thousand swords. Less than half of what I had hoped.”

“It will not be enough to drive back the forces of Mordor.” The Ranger agreed. A shout rang out, and they both turned to look. A man was struggling to pull his horse passed a fissure in the mountain. Legolas was standing beside it with Gimli, looking pensive. There were no tents pitched in the shadow of the mountain, no horse would walk in front of the road that led within the mountain, and all of the men cringed as they looked upon it. 

“What is it?” Legolas asked as Aragorn appeared by his side. 

“The Dimholt. It is the door under the mountain.” 

Theoden came over to them and frowned. “Once, in the last war against Sauron, the men who dwelt within the mountain offered their allegiance to Isildur. But at the moment of battle, they deserted him. He placed a curse on them. They would be unable to rest until they had fulfilled their oath to the King of Gondor.”

Gimli huffed. “A mountain is a mountain to a Dwarf.” A wind clew across them, chilling, and each of them shuddered. “But that is a bad mountain.”

“When do we leave?” Legolas asked. They were following King Theoden around the encampment; question those who were sent out as scouts, trying to determine how many more people were expected to arrive. 

“Maybe more will come?” The King suggested. 

“Every hour lost hastens Gondors defeat.” Aragorn insisted. “We will wait the night, but we must leave at dawn.”

“ _Can we not leave earlier?_ ” Legolas muttered, in Elvish. 

“ _I know you miss your mate. We leave at dawn, Legolas. We shall be at Gondor in a days ride. You will see him soon._ ” Aragorn assured in the same language. 

“Don’t you ever feel a little left out?” Gimli said to the King with a chuckle. 

Legolas slapped him lightly on the shoulder. He traded a smirk with Aragorn. “We spoke of my undying passion for Harrison, and the noises of desire he makes.” 

Gimli’s face went red, though Legolas and Aragorn managed not to laugh. “Right, uh, well. Speak no more of it. Or speak more in Elvish.” He turned from them, muttering, “never be able to look at the boy again.” 

When the Dwarf was out of sight, Legolas chuckled. “He will be fine.”

“He will be.” Aragorn took the Elf’s hands and squeezed. “We will be there soon.”

King Theoden nodded. “We leave at dawn.”

As Aragorn slept that night he dreamt of his own mate. Arwen was pale, and sickly, but she was happy to see him so he kept his worries to himself. In his dreams, he kissed her. And then he woke. 

“Sir? King Theoden awaits you.” A man spoke, his head peeking through the flap in Aragorn’s tent. The Ranger nodded, waited for the man to leave, and then stood.

He walked into the King’s tent. As he entered, Theoden left. A figure, draped in a long black cloak, stood from where it had been seated and approached Aragorn. The Ranger’s first instinct was to attack, but he calmed himself and waited. The hood fell back, and Lord Elrond of Rivendell smiled sadly at him. 

“She is fading.” He whispered. Aragorn’s heart clenched painfully. “She fights to hold on. For you. And for Harrison and Legolas too.”

“What are you-?” 

“You do not know? Arwen has chosen a mortal life. Her immortality is forfeit, but the Valar have chosen to grant it to someone else. Arwen and you must both survive the war, live and be married. She wears a pendant, to give to Harrison, if she survives long enough. She holds onto life with both hands. You must do the same.”

“We have not enough men.” Aragorn admitted softly. As much as he wanted to win, and survive, he knew this war was most likely a lost cause. All they could hope to do was distract Sauron’s forces long enough for Frodo and Sam to reach Mount Doom. 

“You need more. There are more.” Elrond paused, swallowed heavily and spoke again. “There are those that dwell in the mountain.”

“Murders. Traitors.” The Ranger spat. “They will not answer to me.”

“They will answer to the King of Gondor!” The Elf cried, drawing forth a sword from within his robes. He handed the Sword to Aragorn, who took it and caressed it reverently. “Andúril, flame of the west, forged from the shards of Narsil.” 

“Sauron will not have forgotten the Sword of Elendil.” 

“ _I give hope to Men,_ ” Lord Elrond whispered. 

“ _I keep none for myself._ ” 

Aragorn left the tent. The Elf did not follow him, he would return to Rivendell in the morning. The true King of Gondor stood at the base of the mountain, his horse by his side and he peered down the path, trying to spot anything. It was all rock and stone, though, and Aragorn heaved himself onto the horse’s back and kicked its flanks. As the horse began to move, another joined it. 

Legolas and Gimli frowned at their friend. “Did you think you could sneak off without us?” Legolas joked. 

Gimli raised his axe and grinned. “Face it, lad, we’re coming with you.” 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Minas Tirith. August 1998. 

Harrison smiled. He placed the bowl of water back onto the table and stood up. Pippin watched him silently as he was scrying. “What did you see?” The Hobbit asked softly. 

“Legolas is on his way.” Another smile. “Aid is coming to Gondor.” Pippin hummed lightly, fingers crossed beneath the table that aid would come soon. 

The front Gates opened, and Harrison recognized the creaking sound they made at once. With a frown he walked from the dining room, through the hallways of the Citadel until he reached the courtyard. Minas Tirith was built in layers. The Citadel was at the very top and surrounding the building was a courtyard of white stone, with a white tree in its centre. A long straight walkway jutted out over the rest of the city, and Harrison walked along it, looking down over its edge at the rest of Minas Tirith’s layers. 

His eyes locked on the open gates as a horse trotted through. One leg caught in the stirrup, two arrows sticking out of his chest, being dragged along behind the animal was Faramir. And Harrison had never seen a person who looked so dead. He swallowed heavily, and turned his entire body to look out over the city. 

Behind the walls, they were safe for the moment. But outside of the city waited ten thousand Orcs, and Trolls, and Catapults. All of them waiting to feast on the flesh of the men, women and children hiding inside. That wasn’t all though. Unfortunately Mordor had more forces to call upon that had not yet arrived. The Legions of Haradrim from the south, with their monstrous Oliphaunts, Mercenaries from the coast: all would answer to Mordor’s call. 

The enemy catapults launched. Harrison stayed standing as men and women ducked and screamed. Severed heads flew at them, two or three aimed high enough to reach the courtyard, but they bounced off an invisible shield that surrounded the teenage boy. Harrison lowered his hand, and the shield fell with him. He looked down at the heads and sighed. He recognized at least one face as a man who had rode out with Faramir on the hopeless mission to recapture Osgiliath. These men were dead, and the blood was on Lord Denethor’s hands. 

Harrison ran back inside. He found the closest staircase and hurried down them. Gandalf was in the Keep, but he rode up the stairs on Shadowfax until he reached level with Harrison. 

“It will get worse before it gets better. We have to do something with the women and children.”

“Yes, yes,” Gandalf muttered, smiling. “All that screaming really distracts from the fight.” 

“Mithrandir!” Harrison scolded, though his lips twitched upwards. “Come, there is no more time for teasing.” Gandalf began to ride away, presumably to order more troops around, but Harrison stayed still. Running towards him, crying, was Lord Denethor. As much as Faramir’s death was the man’s own fault, Harry could not be cruel enough to turn him away. Denethor clutched Harrison against his chest the moment they were close enough to touch. 

The ground they stood on shuddered as enormous stones hurtled at the walls, fired by the catapults. They crushed the stone they impacted upon, and people screamed as white brick and stone rained down upon their heads. 

“My line has ended.” Denethor wailed, paying no mind to the suffering of his people. “Rohan has deserted us, Theoden has betrayed me!” He squeezed Harrison harder, crying into the boy’s raven hair. “Come with me. We must burn Faramir’s remains, we must keep him from the Orcs.”

“I have to fight!” Harry said, pulling back. 

“No! You must come with me. I have lost my sons, aid will not come to Gondor, and so I must at least keep you.” The man insisted as he began to drag Harrison towards the staircase. 

“Aid is coming!” Harrison hissed. He tugged backwards, trying to pull away, but Denethor held him tightly. “Rohan will come! Legolas is com-!”

At the name of the man who had stolen Harrison from Gondor, the mate who had been the reason Harrison had run away from home and from Denethor, the man’s grief turned to rage. With a shout, he backhanded Harrison across the face. The boy cried out, and fell to the floor. He sat, staring up in shock at the Steward whose fists were clenched and raised in anger. “Flee then!” He snarled, “flee back to Legolas and leave me to my suffering.” He leant over the wall, shouting as loud as he could. “Abandon your posts! Flee for your lives! Flee!” 

Abruptly, Lord Denethor slumped to the ground. Harrison looked up, and smiled as he saw Gandalf lowering his staff with a smug look on his face. “I’ve wanted to do that for years,” the White Wizard admitted in a whisper, before offering a hand to help Harrison to his feet. 

They ran down the steps, entering the Keep and Gandalf immediately took charge. “Quick, the wall!” Gandalf pointed at the chunks of stone that had fallen off of Minas Tirith. Men joined together to heave them into their own catapults, and when Gandalf nodded, they fired. The stones flew at the army of Orcs, crushing hundreds of them at a time. 

Shrieking filled the air, and men covered their ears shouting in fear, and flailing around. “Do not give into fear!” Gandalf hollered, as the Nazgül flew above his head. 

“Can I borrow this?” Harrison asked a man who was running by. Without waiting for an answer, Harrison plucked the bow from the man, and grabbed an arrow out of the quiver. He ran, up the staircase2 again, and perched over the edge of the wall. As the Nazgül flew below him, Harry strung the bow, and fired the arrow. With an excited cry Harry watched as the rider fell, the arrow having pierced the wraiths mouth. “Thanks!” He shouted, throwing the bow back down to the soldier who was watching him in awe. 

The Nazgül hissed, flying up to face him. Its mouth opened, and Harrison bared his teeth at the creature. Since he was small, he had been able to speak a language that no one else understood. No animal, no man, dwarf, elf, or creature could speak the language Harrison could. But then, he’d never tried to speak to a Nazgül.3 He held his hand out, prepared to use magic to defend himself if this failed. 

“ **Listen to me, do as I say. Obey me. Obey.** ” The Nazgül shook its head harshly, as if trying to remove something from inside of it. Maybe hoping the movement would force Harrison’s voice from its brain. “Imperio! **Obey. Do not attack me. Attack the Orcs. Do as I say.** ” 

The Nazgül shuddered. It flew lower, its feet coming onto the stone ground as it walked slowly towards Harrison. People around screamed and began running. None of them thought to attack. The Nazgül lowered itself onto its stomach, and with a smirk Harry moved to mount it. Gandalf looked up, just in time to see the creature launch itself off of the courtyard, with Harrison on its back, and fly straight towards another Nazgül. 

Without prompting, Harrison’s Nazgül began to bite and scratch the other. It knocked its rider off, and the wraith fell screaming to the ground. The Nazgül soon bit through the other creatures’ neck, severing its head. The body and head fell separately, both landing on top of the Orcs, crushing a handful of the enemy. 

A chant of “Grond” sprung up from the Orcs, and Harrison leant sideways to look down. Four Trolls were working a battering ram, pulling it back and letting it fly forward, over and over. Its head was shaped like a Grim, the dog of Death or hellhound, and fire sprung from its mouth each time it hit the Gates. Harrison flew down, the Nazgül crashing into one of the Trolls and snapping its neck. He tried to knock over the battering ram, but it swung towards them. The Nazgül pulled up, trying to fly away, with Harry still on its back, but the Grim aimed up towards them, and blew fire. The creature screamed as it caught aflame. It flailed in the sky, and with a scream Harrison fell from the Nazgül’s back. The Nazgül burned, falling and dying with a shriek. 

Two strong arms wrapped around him, stopping him from falling. The one who caught him strained against the added weight, stumbled, but didn’t let Harrison go. Harry turned in the man’s arms and grinned widely. “I wondered where you had gotten to.”

Haldir smiled happily, running a hand over Harrison’s bruised cheek lightly. “I was saving myself for a spectacular entrance, but I suppose this will have to do.” 

“Come on, I have an idea.”

“Valar, save us from Harrison’s idea!” Haldir cried out, though he did follow the younger male nonetheless. 

They found themselves sitting on top of the gateway. The gate was built below a think chunk of stone that supported the layer above the Keep. There was a small gap, big enough for two teenagers (though fortunate for Harrison, Haldir was rather uncomfortable) that looked out over the Gate, beyond the wall. They each had a bow, and a quiver full of arrows, and they aimed them down through the gap. Just as the ram burst through the Gates, and Gandalf ordered the men to volley, Harrison and Haldir took out the Trolls. Two arrows each into the back of their necks. 

“Look!” Harrison yelled, though he didn’t stop firing arrows. “Rohan have arrived!” And indeed, behind the army of Orcs were 6000 men on horseback. The Orcs closer to the Rohirrim strung their arrows and aimed. As the cry of “volley” echoed back to Harrison, the boy screamed, waving his hand and the arrows froze in mid air. They hovered there as the riders pitched forward, crushing the Orcs beneath the hooves of their horses. When the Riders had passed, the arrows fell harmlessly to the ground. 

Harrison waved his hand again, and fire spread out across the floor, seeping from the abandoned battering ram like lava and spreading back down the causeway, melting the feet of the Orcs who were still queuing to invade Minas Tirith. 

“Your magic is Dark.” Haldir whispered. Elves were creatures of light and good. But Harrison was the mate of an Elf, who had been promised Elvin immortality, and yet his magic… 

“Like my mood,” was what the boy said in reply. 

Something caught his attention suddenly. On the top level, running past the white tree and through the courtyard, a human came hurtling towards the end of the walkway. He was caught entirely on fire, but Harrison knew it was Lord Denethor. 

“Can you save him?” Haldir asked worriedly as the man approached the end of the city. Two more steps and he would plummet to his death. 

“I can.” Lord Denethor fell, and Harrison watched emotionlessly until the scream cut off suddenly. Haldir opened his mouth to question his friend, but turned away as Harrison’s green eyes flashed red momentarily. 

“We have more pressing issues,” the Elf said at last. He pointed through the gap. Large, grey creatures with four tusks each were moving towards the Rohirrim. At least forty men sat on top of each Oliphaunt, each armed and ready to fight. Harrison watched the Haradrim approach with a smirk on his face. One fell suddenly, as a rider on a horse cut beneath its legs. A second ran into a third, the man who was steering having been killed by Eómer. “Ah!” Haldir said, still pointing. 

Harry’s eyes followed his friend’s aim, and his face lit up as he saw Legolas. The elf climbed up the side of a forth animal, killing those who got in his way. Gimli was on the ground beside them, cutting through anyone who looked twice at the blond elf. 

Everyone was tiring, growing weary of the battle. With the newcomers, the Men were out numbered. People were beginning to lose hope. But suddenly, a strange green mist appeared, swarming like fog over Orc and Haradrim and Oliphaunt alike. There were people in the green smoke, Harrison realized, as he watched them float in through the gates below him. They killed every agent of Mordor in sight, before they floated back outside to surround Aragorn. Haldir helped Harrison down, and immediately the boy ran towards Legolas. He stopped suddenly as he spotted King Theoden. The man lay, crushed beneath his dead horse, with the beheaded body of a Nazgül beside him. His niece cried at his side. 

“Peace Eowyn.” Harrison whispered. “Help me move the horse.” Together they heaved the animal off of the King. He coughed and sputtered, organs ruptured and bones broken, he could not move even though he had been freed. Harrison laid a hand to the man’s stomach, and willed him to be well. Miraculously, in the eyes of the two other humans, Theoden’s pain faded, and he allowed Eowyn to pull him to his feet. 

“How can I thank you?” Theoden asked in awe. 

Eowyn’s response was one of fear. “What kind of devilry was that?” She breathed at him, her hand tight on her uncle’s arm. 

Legolas had been searching for Harrison, and he found the boy still kneeling on the ground. “Harry!” He cried, “le melon!”

“I love you too,” the teenager whispered, allowing the elf to press their lips together. “Is it over?” He asked softly. He looked around. People were standing together in clusters, holding their friends close and crying. The dead lay still at their feet, Orc and Men alike, unmoving. The people who had won them the battle, those strange green translucent people, surrounded Aragorn still, but when the Ranger spoke they all seemed to exhale at the same time. And then they disappeared, like sand through someone’s fingers. 

“It is almost over, my love.” Legolas promised him. They held each other then, steeling themselves against fear and worry and desire, uncaring of what the near future would bring or what the past had just wrought, but taking pleasure in the present and each others’ company. 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Minas Tirith. September 1998. 

“Frodo has long passed out of my sight,” Gandalf said sadly. 

He turned to look at Harrison’s back. The boy was bent over a bowl of water, staring intently into the liquid, desperately trying to see something. 

“If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it.” Aragorn insisted. 

They had gathered in the Citadel, in the dinning room since both Merry and Pippin claimed to be starving. 

“The forces of Sauron are regrouping behind the Black Gates. The armies of Mordor are not defeated.” Gandalf spoke, as he paced around the dinning table. 

“What does it matter what Sauron does?” Gimli grumbled. 

“Because,” Gandalf said slowly, as if he were talking to a child, “ten-thousand Orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom. I’ve sent him to his death.”

“We need a diversion,” Harrison spoke suddenly. He was still looking into the bowl of water, trying to divine Frodo’s fate. Lady Galadriel had always been better at it, but it worked for Harrison time and again, and when it showed the present it was always accurate. 

“What did you see?”

“Frodo is in the shadow of the Eye. He crossed the plains of Gorgoroth.” The teenager told them as he moved to take a seat at the table. “We must keep Sauron’s Eye off Frodo for a little longer.”

“We can’t win!” Legolas exclaimed. 

“No, not for ourselves. But we can win Frodo the time he needs.” Aragorn told them. He looked at each of his friends in turn, and smiled as Gimli glared at him. 

“Certainty of death. Small chance of success. What are we waiting for?” The Dwarf declared. 

“I’m in!”

“Me too!” The Hobbits said cheerfully. 

“Count me in,” Legolas sighed, smiling over at Aragorn. 

Harrison stood from the table and walked to stand beside his mate. “I will go of course.”

“No you wont!” The elf insisted. “For once, allow me to keep you safe.”

“There is no safer place than by your side,” the child grinned, “from where else can I protect you?” Gimli chuckled, as Legolas blushed furiously. “We ride to Mordor?” Harrison asked. 

“We do,” Aragorn answered him. 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Mordor. September 1998. 

Their forces waited outside of the black gates. They were huddled in a circle, men standing side by side, those on horses ringed around the edge of the group, protecting those within. Aragorn, Gandalf and a nameless man who bore the banner of Gondor rode forward. They stopped when they were close enough to knock on the Gates. 

“I call you forth, Lord of Mordor. Justice must be met.” Aragorn shouted. He held the Sword of Elendil in front of him, and he waited. The doors creaked open. “Fall back.” He told the others. They rode back to the rest of their group. Legolas and Harrison stood side-by-side, Gimli and Eómer next to them. Aragorn and Gandalf came to wait with them, and the other man found his place again in the middle of the large group of men. The lone banner fluttered in the breeze, as the man who held it, hidden behind his comrades, trembled. 

The Orcs came forward. They surrounded the Men on all sides, trapping them. And they fought. Man against Orc, axe against sword and arrow. Sauron’s Eye was fixed upon them, and Harrison was content that for the moment, Frodo was safe from danger. 

“Never thought I’d die fighting side by side with an Elf,” Gimli grumbled as he parried against an Orc. 

“How about side by side with a friend?” Legolas asked, his own blade beheaded another Orc.

“Oh shut up,” Harrison hissed, “enough of this melodrama. No one is dying. Especially you!” He pointed his arrow in Legolas’ direction, before notching it and letting it fly. “You owe me a son.” 

The human waved his hand, and like at Minas Tirith, flames spread along the ground. Like the Balrog from the Mines of Moria, the flames took shape. Dragons, and Chimeras, and Serpents and a host of other fantastical creatures that had never graced Middle-Earth rose up, their mouths open and hungry as they swallowed Orc after Orc. Devouring and burning them. 

“Sauron!” “Saruman!” The Orcs cried in fear. The sight of the magic was so evil, so unlike magic used by Gandalf, that they did not know what else to think. Surely this Wizard should be fighting on their side? 

The head Orc, the one who was in charge of this battle, snarled angrily. “Kill them all,” he hissed, “but him!” His eyes lingered on Harrison, and though he did not point every Orc knew which human their leader meant. 

They continued to fight. The Orcs tried to kill anyone they could, but if Harrison came before them they would hesitate, unsure of how much force to use. Generally, this led to Harrison dispatching them quickly. Occasionally an Orc would try to knock the boy unconscious, and a handful of times they actually managed to hit him. He fell to his knees once, stunned, but Legolas was beside him in an instant, defending him and killing the Orc who had attacked. 

Screaming echoed around the fighters, and everyone paused. They all turned to stare at the Tower upon which the Eye rested. It was crumbling, chunks of the Tower sliding apart and falling to the ground. The Eye tipped sideways, its pupil flickering frantically trying to find a way to save itself. As it hit the ground, it imploded, and the explosion rocked the ground. All around the Men, the ground upon which an Orc stood caved inwards, crumbling and falling, bringing Mordor’s army with it. 

“Frodo!” They all cheered, “Sam!” And Harrison smiled warmly over at Legolas as the blond clapped along with his friends. 

Mount Doom suddenly exploded. Out of the corner of his eyes Harrison watched as Pippin collapsed to the ground and began to cry. His mouth moved but no sound came out. He mimed, “Frodo, no”, over and over, and Harrison’s heart ached for him. 

“They are alive,” Harrison promised him, smiling down at the distraught Hobbit. He turned to face Gandalf and the old Wizard nodded. “And they will be saved.” 

That night, three Eagles flew with Gandalf over what was left of Mordor until they found Samwise and Frodo unconscious on a rock. Around them, lava flowed, and the Eagles were careful not to burn their feathers as they scooped up the two Hobbits. With their burdens, they flew back to Gondor.

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Minas Tirith. October 1998. 

Two Elves waited for Harrison at the threshold of the Citadel. He walked inside, followed by the members of the Fellowship, bar Frodo who was still unconscious. One was male and the other female. Both were very tall, with long blond hair, and prominent handsome features. They smiled widely at Harrison, and the woman beckoned him closer. 

“Come here my child.” Harrison stopped in front of her, frowning. 

“I know you from somewhere. As if I dreamed you.” He whispered. His hand reached out to brush against her cheek, and as he touched her she beamed. 

“I am Eonwe. This is my mate, Adan. I found you, after your parents died. I brought you to Valinor, to the Valar, and they sent you to Gondor. We hoped you would be loved by the race of Man. I wanted to keep you, so very much. I wanted-” She trailed off. “This is your mate?” She asked, her eyes lighting up as Legolas stepped forward, standing protectively by his mate’s side. 

Adan came closer, and reached out for one of Harrison’s hands. “You are a very special young man. When you were a babe, a Dark Lord much like Sauron targeted your family. He killed your parents, and used some sort of magic on you. You survived death, and yet you have been affected by it nonetheless.” 

Harry’s hand pressed against his forehead, against the faint lightening bolt-shaped scar that was hidden behind his hair. “Where were my parents from?”

“They were from Earthlia. You are not of Middle-Earth, child.” Eonwe whispered sadly, though she continued to smile at him. “When the Dark Lord Voldemort tried to kill you, his body was destroyed. His soul lives on, and in recent years he has found a new body. He wreaks havoc on that earth, Harrison Potter, and they need you to help them. Just like you have helped us, you must go to Earthlia and defeat this other Dark Wizard.”

“Your magic,” Adan told him, “comes from that world as well. It can be light or dark, but mostly it depends on the intent of the wielder. Your scar contains a portion of Voldemort’s soul. Voldemort’s magic influences your own in times of anger or fear or battle. You could probably feel his rage, his desire to hurt others.”

“Yes,” the boy whispered, wide eyed. 

“When you defeat Voldemort, it will pass. Your soul will be your own again,” he smirked, “and your mates of course.”

“How do I get there?” Harrison asked quietly. 

“We must all sail to Valinor. The Valar have arranged transport for you. A Wizard from that world will come to meet you.” Eonwe smiled and held a pendant out to him. It was a dull silver colour, with the letter ‘H’ engraved on the front of this. “This will contain immortality, gifted from the Valar. When it glows, Arwen will be mortal, and free to be with her mate. On your return from Earthlia, it will dull again, and you will become an Elf.”

“You do not return from Valinor.” Legolas bit out, angrily. How dare they take his mate away?

Harrison slipped the chain over his neck, leaving the pendant exposed over his shirt. “Legolas is coming too, right?”

“Yes, your mate will accompany you.” Adan said. 

“And he’ll come back to Middle-Earth after?”

“You both will, if you do not die. But you seem to be very adept at staying alive.” Eonwe grinned. 

Before she could say anything else, Sam ran into the room. “Frodo, he’s awake. Quick!” The Hobbits and the Dwarf ran from the room. Harrison nodded to Aragorn, who left as well, more calmly than the others. 

“Go.” Harrison whispered, but Legolas just continued to stare at him. “Go to your friend. I will be here when you return.” When Legolas left the room, someone else entered from the servants’ door. “Arwen?” Harrison asked softly. 

“I am here for the Coronation. It is in two days. You leave afterwards, I presume?” She came towards him and took his hands in hers. She kissed the knuckles lightly. 

“How did you know?”

“I saw you return.” She paused. “Both of you.” 

The days passed. The Fellowship spent their time alone or with their friends, and Harry and Legolas spent most of their days in bed together. The Coronation passed without problems, and everyone cheered as their King made his way down the causeway packed with people. 

Beside the white tree of Gondor, was a party of Elves. Lord Elrond nodded his head, and the female elf holding the banner pushed it aside and revealed her face. “Arwen?” Aragorn whispered as he ran to take her into his arms. She passed the banner to another and wrapped her arms around the King’s neck. As they kissed, Harrison’s pendant glowed a bright white for a moment until it faded. The locket was no longer dull silver, but instead it shone, bright and shinny, almost living. 

Harrison took hold of Legolas’ hands after the elf had hugged the King. As everyone fell into a bow before four of the bravest Hobbits to have ever existed, Harrison felt his magic well within him. With a ‘crack’ they both disappeared, apparating straight to the Grey Havens where a boat waited to sail them to Valinor. 

It would be February of The Fourth Age of Middle-Earth (1999) before the Hobbits would step foot in the Shire again. And though each member of the Fellowship was eternally bound by friendship and loyalty, they went their separate ways and continued on with their lives as if the second war had never existed. 

**The End**

*

1 – Taken from the first chapter.   
2 – I bet he feels like a Yo-Yo.   
3 – Nazgüls are reptilian: like Dragons, snakes, lizards. I presume that they would understand Parseltongue to some extent. 

* * * 

EPILOGUE COMING SOON.   
But the sequel is still no where in sight, my bad!


	4. Chapter 4

Here is the very last part of this insanely long one-shot. God, imagine if I had tried to cram all of this into one chapter? I forgot all about it, otherwise I would have posted this sooner.   
No, the sequel is still not written. I suck. Sorry. But there's only one more Loki Month prompt to go, and then I'll get back to working on In Places Deep. 

 

**Words:** 2,068  
 **Epilogue**  
 **Sparkle IV**  
Middle-Earth, Lothlorien. January 2000. 

It was silent in the forests of Lothlorien. The trees neither shook their branches or leaves, and the Elves did not sing nor dance. Instead, there was simply silence. 

Lady Galadriel smiled to herself, a faint uplifting at the edges of her mouth. Her mate waited patiently beside her, his hands clasped behind his back. Around them, in many different groups, stood Elves. They were dressed in their finest, long robes and tight, brightly coloured tunics with leggings of doeskin. Adorned in jewels and gold and crowns of leaves and briars, they looked very much like a party of royals. But none of them were celebrating. Wide-eyed, and tight-lipped, they waited in silence. 

Their Lady said they were coming. They had been waiting since Galadriel saw them in the water that morning. But they would keep waiting. 

A son of Lothlorien was coming home. 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Lothlorien. January 2000. 

It was almost midnight when noise first echoed through the forest. It was a sound like thunder, a deep ‘crack’ that carried faintly on the wind. Every Elf in the vicinity stood up straighter, tensing and fingering their bows or daggers. Lady Galadriel stepped forward, walking slowly towards the small group of trees that obscured their vision. She brushed back one branch and let out a soft sigh. 

In the distance, she could see quite easily due to her naturally enhanced eyesight. Her son and his mate stood together. 

“Nae saian luume’.” ( _It has been too long_ ) The tall Elven woman whispered, holding her hands out in front of her. 

Harrison Potter grinned widely back at her. He started towards her, the woman who had taken care of him since he had escaped from Gondor, but a firm hand on his arm stopped him. 

Legolas Greenleaf frowned down on the dark haired man. “You shouldn’t run in your condition.” The blond chastised, eyes straying down to Harry’s stomach. 

“Legolas!” Harry hissed, blushing. “You’re going to ruin the surprise.” He turned back to his mother. The Lady of the Woods was almost in front of him when he turned back, and he took the last few steps towards her and buried himself in her welcoming arms. “Cormamin lindua ele lle.” ( _My heart sings to see thee_ )

“It has been far too long, brother.” Another tall blond Elf appeared beside them. Haldir prised Harrison from the other Elf and pulled the boy against his chest. “Oio naa elealla alasse’, Marcaunon.” ( _Ever is thy sight a joy, Harry_ ) He pulled back, wide eyed and grinned. “My, my, is that what I think?” He pushed Harrison’s waist length black hair back, fingertips ghosting over the younger male’s ears. They were pointed. 

“An Elf?” Galadriel breathed, reaching out to touch his ears as well. “Forever?”

Harrison pulled out the locket from under his shirt. The ‘H’ engraved on the front was as intricate as ever, but it no longer glowed. Instead it was just a dull silver; beautiful, yes, but nothing special. “Forever, Naneth, and always.” ( _mother_ ) “And that is not all. Legolas and I have more news to share with you!”

“Did you defeat the Dark Lord?” Someone cried out from the crowd. Harrison chuckled lightly, but nodded. 

Legolas’ arms came around his waist, his chest flush to Harrison’s back. The blond’s fingers splayed across Harry’s stomach, which was slightly swollen. The small lump, which was easily noticeable once Legolas drew their attention to it, was hard beneath his fingers. “My mate is four months with child.” 

“I wanted to tell them!” Harrison muttered. “Well, fine. I get to tell your parents then!” 

“An Elfling?” Haldir asked, his eyes fixed on Harrison’s stomach. 

“Yallume!” ( _At last_ ), Lady Galadriel exclaimed, “Legolas was the last Elfling born, and he’s gone 300-winters now.” 

“You’ll have to stay!” Someone shouted. 

“Oh yes, you can’t leave now!”

“The child must be born at home,” another said. 

Harrison looked around at all of the people he had lived and trained with for over a year, the same people he had not seen in almost two years, and he smiled. He turned to Legolas and shrugged, leaving the decision up to his elder mate. 

Legolas smiled back at him. “Of course we will stay.” 

They were going to visit Mirkwood and Legolas’ father before the birth, but King Thranduil would be so happy to have an heir at last he would doubtlessly forgo missing the birthing. 

_XXX_

Middle-Earth, Mirkwood Forest. July 2000. 

Unlike Lothlorien, whose inhabitants built a castle, and unlike the Elves of Rivendell who lived in a cathedral, the Elves of Mirkwood forest built their homes in the treetops. Mirkwood had always been prone to the sight of Orcs, and the Elves took no chances with their families. It was common knowledge that Orcs did not climb trees, so they built their houses up high where no Orc could hope to reach. 

The cry of a baby filled the forest. 

In their tree houses, Elves frowned and looked out of windows and over balconies. It had been some time since a child cried in Mirkwood. 

“Sedho, penneth,” ( _Quiet, little one_ ) Harrison whispered as he gentle rocked the infant in his arms. “Whose idea was it to live up there?” He snarled, pinning an angry look on Legolas. The blond Elf merely smiled, quite used to his mate’s surging hormones, and honestly he had dealt with worse words and tones from his mate during the labour. Their Elfling was worth every cruel thing Harrison had said and more. 

Harrison was finding it difficult to climb up the trees while holding a baby. Haldir and a group of guards had accompanied the family from Lothlorien to Mirkwood, but they had not sent ahead word of their visit. They had instead sent up two Elves, who had received permission to throw down a rope ladder to help the new mother up. The other guards were simply climbing up the side of the trees, without the ladder, and Legolas would have done the same except that Harrison had threatened him with celibacy. 

“Whose bright idea was it to live up there, with rope ladders, and babies?”

“There are no children in Mirkwood, my love,” Legolas tried to appease his mate. He held his arms out for his son, but the second the child was away from Harrison’s chest he began to wail again. 

“Well I can see why!” Harry took the baby back. “Fine. Just fine. If they attack me first, I’m going to defend myself, understand?” 

“I thought we decided showing them your magic was a bad idea?” Legolas fussed, his hands moved out to touch his lover but Harry batted them back. 

“Well they’re giving me no choice.” He held his son tightly and closed his eyes. While at Hogwarts he had been given magical training, and while it had come easily to him in Earthlia, in Middle-Earth his powers were as they always were. They did not rely on words necessarily, but on his emotions and needs. Right then, he needed to get to the top of that tree. The wind picked up, and took hold of Harrison’s form, raising him off of the ground. As Harrison began to float upwards, Legolas took hold of the rope ladder and began to climb, always keeping level with his mate just in case he had to reach out and catch him. 

When they reached the top, Legolas was immediately pulled towards an older Elf, whose golden crown was almost the size of his head. King Thranduil looked steadily over at the dark haired Elf and then turned back to his only child. 

“Vedui' Adar,” ( _Greetings father_ ), Legolas said with a smile.   
“Mae govannen, amin utinu.” ( _Well met, my son_ ) “Who is this?” He asked, turning back to look at Harrison. 

“Harrison eneth nîn, ward to Steward Faramir of Gondor, Prince of Lothlorien.” ( _\--My name is_ ) 

“My son’s mate?” Legolas and Harrison both nodded silently. “Gîl síla na lû govaded,” ( _A star shines on the time of our meeting_ ) The King reached out for Harrison’s hand, but stopped short when the bundle in the dark-haired Elf’s arms gave a cry. “And who is this?”

1“Father, this is our son, Aranhil Greenleaf, Ernil o Taur-nu-Fuin.” ( _Prince of Mirkwood_ ) Legolas moved towards his mate. He placed one arm around Harrison’s waist, and the other slowly pulled the blanket away from the baby’s face. 

The one-month-old child stared up at the three faces that peered down on him. Wide green eyes, just like his mother’s, watched the new person warily. A gurgle escaped his throat as his mother smiled down at him and he let out a wail as he was handed over to Thranduil. 

“My grandson?” The King asked softly, his eyes softening as he reached out for the boy. The child didn’t appear to be happy with the arrangement, but Thranduil held him carefully and patiently and tried to ignore the cries. “Is he well?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered. “But I’m afraid Aranhil only really likes to be held by Harrison during the day, and myself at night. He is going to be a rather spoilt child.”

“Ah, my son, but so were you.” A blush spread over Legolas’ checks, as Harry giggled lightly. As Aranhil was laid back in Harrison’s arms, his cries ceased and a few of the more curious Elves crept forward to have a peek at Mirkwood’s newest resident. “We shall have a celebration. To welcome my Son and his mate back to their home, and to welcome my new Grandson into the world! We shall invite all of your friends, and your mate’s family. No one will ever doubt the hospitality of the Elves again!” 

“Father?” Legolas said quietly, turning his face away from the majority of the guests. “Are you certain?” His father had never been someone who was fond of outsiders, or anyone who was not of their race. “Harrison was the boy who ran away from Gondor some years ago, do you remember? He has friends in the race of Men, and of Hobbits, and Dwarves! Father you must be certain. I will not have you invite his Elven friends, but not our others.”

“Our? Are they your friends as well, child?”

“Yes.” Legolas said simply, thinking of Arwen and Aragorn, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin, and Gimli, and Gandalf of course. “Yes they are.”

“Then they will be welcome here.” He took hold of Legolas’ shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Write to them, invite them here and I shall take care of the rest. We will have a celebration that will put all the celebrations of the past to shame. No one will forget this time for many generations. But as we wait for your friends to arrive,” Legolas waited silently for his father to continue. The King was staring at Harrison, the dark haired Elf cooing softly to his son. “Until your friends arrive, why don’t you show your family around their home? Your room will need airing out. It has been sometime since you slept there.”

“You wish us to stay here forever?”

“Forever is a long time, my son, and we certainly have it. For now, let us enjoy this coming festivity. And then, when I’ve gotten to know my newest family members, you may consider living away from Mirkwood for a time. As long as you always come home.”

“Always, my father.” With one last smile, Legolas strode towards his mate and pulled the younger male into a kiss. “Father is throwing us a party, and the Fellowship will be united once again.” He whispered, as they pulled apart. 

Harrison reached up to caress the blond’s cheek. He smiled. “We’re always united, by friendship and loyalty and our experiences, even when we are not nearby we are close to one another.” Legolas rolled his eyes and chuckled. “But you’re right. It will be nice to see them all in person again.”

“And I’m sure they’ll be very pleased to meet our newest addition to the Fellowship.” They looked down on their son, and they both smiled. 

It would be some months before all of those invited to the celebration arrived. But in the time between their arrival in Mirkwood, and the arrival of their friends, Legolas and Harrison spent much time together, or alone, or with their son, and they were happy. 

For the moment they were home.

**The End**

1 – Aranhil, (Are-Ahn-Hill). It’s Elvish for “Regan” and means, ‘King’s Heir’, which I thought was fitting. 

* * * 

Thank you to every body who read this story, reviewed, added me to alert and bookmarked. To those that read but didn’t do any of those things… Are you saying there is something wrong with my story XD


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